I’ve grown tired,
but that doesn’t mean I can stop.
It’s an endless
cycle,
circle
that I find
myself in
now.
Start at the end,
in the middle,
it didn’t matter.
A minute
longer and I would persuade
myself
it all wasn’t worth it.
Comfort
has long been estranged
from any type of progress.
Into the fire
I make my way.
Another day
of metamorphosis.
Climb
up into life,
into the night.
Wake when the day
is still in its pupa stage.
Rise
up like the Sun,
but shed no light.
Make no noise;
be still like death.
Come quickly
and without a ring tone.
Seldom,
if ever
justified.
I’m just there.
You’ll never see me
until I’m in your window.
Just looking in;
I can’t stay.
I have to keep moving.
Wake
long before dawn,
seeking the way.
Disciple of resurrection.
Die,
just to be waves,
just to be light,
just to be energy.
Reborn,
in another place,
in another time,
with another face,
in another mind.
There is no escape,
just a new phase
of this endless cycle.
Circle.
Miracle.
On goes the march
of the sky gods.
HG – 2018
