Tuesday, May 6, 2008

Alas Time ...

A glow in the east as the sun swells over the horizon and breathes navy into an indigo sky that reaches out to forever. The water reflects back the swirling reality of fire and explodes in my eyes like the snap of reflection on a sorrow lost in the mists of a time from before. I stand in a quiet office and watch the dance of morning sweep night into a pirouette of goodbyes and I gaze out onto the water licked restless by the breeze of their steps.

Time lies heavy on my shoulders, an iron embrace of need and want and demands, whispering harsh wants in my reluctant ear, squeezing my neck in a demand of more that I am helpless to refuse. I want Time that is ethereal and imbued with hope and desire and effervescent joy. I want Time that stretches before me, endless in implication and possibility and pregnant with maybes. Instead, Time slashes at the corporeal reality of a soul already stretched gossamer thin through demand and need and snatches greedily at the precious crystal moments that break free.

As the seconds tick away fleshy realities and leach collagen and youth, I marvel at how days have become so finite and truncated, how weeks once acres of endless possibles are swept away with the blink of an eye and lost in mists of might-have-beens. How did this happen?

Caught in a perfect moment of clarity, I stand and drink in the sight of another day birthing new possibilities and widen eyes dulled by trivialities and monotony to freshen and lick green into their opaqueness. Stirrings in the barrenness of my chest as a tickling of rage licks flames into frustration provoke me into a silent scream of primitive rage.

The flaming orb of sun takes a deep breath and sends out tendrils of light that wash crimson into the growling sky and sweep a tremulous delicate trembling blue into its soaring flesh, then breathes the colour of hope back into the muttering lake below.

I reach out my hands and grasp vainly for the reality of Time that I can feel and live and savour and sighing, turn back to the drudgery of now.


Buffalo said...

Powerful and beautifully written.

The fleeting nature of time and mortality becomes an almost tangible fear and regret when we realize the road beyond stretchs further than the road ahead.

Beth said...

I asked my son recently how on earth he had come to be six (!) years old and he replied, laconic: "Well, time passes, you know."

I have been much in the past lately, untangling the webs of fate which brought me to the land in which I now live ...