10 June 2014

One Hundred and Eighty-Nine


And what of those beyond-control junctures where you feel like a colliding billiard ball,
Spinning others in unintended directions toward painful, sorrowful lives,
That you might not wish even for the foulest of souls.
Not always easy to remember
You were not, are not, and need not care.

* * * *
Fascinating that so many across this spinning pearl truly believe
That going out in some sort of martyred, tortured fashion,
Is righteous in the eyes of their imagined god.

* * * *
A few breadcrumbs for those who feel the call.

* * * *
There is nothing to be, nothing to become,
For those without the ambition for more.

* * * *
Another dream easily forgotten.

* * * *
If it’s forced, it ain’t the Truth.

* * * *
These thoughts are really all about
Everyone and everything in general,
And no one and nothing in particular.

* * * *
How does it feel to fathom
That you are just another shuffle
In the random genetic lottery of eternity.
Do you choose your dance, or merely succumb
To whatever paradigm the given nature has thrown you?
A speculative adventure from the get-go.

* * * *
If this thing we call time really existed, would not you be able to halt it?
Or at least wander to and fro in the manifest here and there?
As it is, imagination is the only time machine,
And all it has going is the ethereal filament of perception,
Only as good as the wiring, and only for long as the gray matter holds fast.