Waiting for this
new day,
new moment.
Turn of the worm,
lick of the dragon’s fire,
destroys all the past,
sends it tumbling
into the abyss
of time.
We are strange machines,
existing in
this present day,
but trapped in everything
we’ve ever seen.
Falling, rising, flying
into our inextricable
futures.
Do we exist in all time,
at the same time,
as long as our thread
winds through
the fabric of space-time?
Do we exist
all along that line?
Can we change,
or can we move?
Are we preordained,
or can we choose?
The little I’ve seen
tells me that we
are never introduced
to our destiny,
be it free,
or not.
We are so short a time here.
The past is a ghost,
the future is a mirror
and we are both
in
and out of time,
simultaneously.
We are strange machines,
indeed.
A constant mystery.
HG – 2022
