This is not the beginning;
it is a continuation,
an infantile iteration.
Something new
in the body of something
that has existed for a while.
Eyes open to a new dawn.
First light banishing dreams,
quickly forgotten.
Carrying forth our image
from some long forgotten provenance,
pushing off from familial shores,
out into uncharted waters.
Or, so we believe.
The wake
of those who might have gone before us
is long settled.
Their maps;
moth eaten, lost,
and crumbled to dust.
We take our azimuth,
set our course,
and feel
intrepid
as our vessel
glides past the quay.
Unless,
we are a refugee;
fleeing home
towards some uncertain tomorrow.
The evil behind,
and a million unknown devils
lurking behind every choice
to flee
into the dark of the unknown.
Instinct is the only council.
No new way,
but one way;
forward.
Camp to camp,
place to place.
Revenants
haunting unfamiliar lands.
Call this “A new beginning”.
Cal this “An adventure”.
Romanticize
starting over,
not for desire
for some burning revelation,
but only to survive.
To start again
must mean
losing everything.
That is why there are
no new beginnings.
Not while we draw breath
and catch starlight in our eyes.
No, we are but continuations.
Dotted lines to checkered pasts,
and spider-thin connections
to aeons past.
Even in the end,
we find no end.
This is not
the ending, either.
This is the bottom
of the respiratory pause
before the next breath
is drawn
and we’re off again
to some new beginning.
HG – 2022
