05-03-2017, 09:04 PM
We look to see each paradox
that smoothly slides past open eyes;
though moving dot by quantum dot within our conscious, jumbled thoughts.
Strange, then, that when we blink, the change
is someone gone
or war is won
or love is lost.
We dream in each entangled plane,
a time where unwrit future grows;
but not until the pieces move in to the place that we call now.
Strange, then, that when we wake we failed
to hold the moon
or count the stars
or drink the sea.
We come to death, our past has gone,
its parts are fixed anew in space.
We stumble through fresh formed terrain which flashes briefly in to view.
Strange, then, that when we die we hope
to meet old friends,
rekindle love,
and yet be free.
tectak 2017
that smoothly slides past open eyes;
though moving dot by quantum dot within our conscious, jumbled thoughts.
Strange, then, that when we blink, the change
is someone gone
or war is won
or love is lost.
We dream in each entangled plane,
a time where unwrit future grows;
but not until the pieces move in to the place that we call now.
Strange, then, that when we wake we failed
to hold the moon
or count the stars
or drink the sea.
We come to death, our past has gone,
its parts are fixed anew in space.
We stumble through fresh formed terrain which flashes briefly in to view.
Strange, then, that when we die we hope
to meet old friends,
rekindle love,
and yet be free.
tectak 2017