Pause in the moment.
I cannot move from this place.
A moment spent here.
A moment spent there.
It's always the same.
Every single day.
Once I had a river.
Onward it would flow.
Fluid. Never pausing.
And movement was not so slow.
Flowing, never ceasing.
A wrinkle in time, creasing.
Now I talk of time spent,
in a single place.
An eternity of moments,
stare me in the face.
I abhor the shape I'm in.
A pause in the moment.
From place to place.
Before time began.
A time before space.
And movement was still.
There were no rivers.
No point to point existence.
Pause in the moment.
And remember this place.
Flat as an iron. The plane. This space
Remember this well.
The point we are at.
Is a literal hell.
A point is just a reference.
Two form a line.
Give me three, a circle I will draw.
Four, we arrive in space.
With no motion we fall.
With five we pause in the moment.
Until we spend our time,
in a literal way,
we pause in the moment,
for too long, some say.
Moving from point to point,
careful to stay in the lines.
Never moving, never falling.
Until we pause, with no motion.
Finally arriving, never having left.
We circumscribe the arc.
Ending were we began.
The same point again.
Pause in the moment.
Then start out, another point to trace.
Always moving, from place to place.
Without movement, I fall.
For the river flows, not ceasing.
In empty space.
Without time, never creasing.
Movement defines time. And
time defines space.
What is the point, I look to,
and admire. It's a place.
Just a momentary quiver.
At the end of a chain.
To give me a hold.
dec '06 jcmc



LinkBack URL
About LinkBacks

Reply With Quote


Bookmarks