An August midnight
Between these walls we spend our time
Forming words we turn to rhyme.
Glimpsing glimmers held close in mind,
Closing over the gatden door,
Mumbling, pleading 'what is life for?'
Something's left, without a roof,
Hinting at a deeper truth?
Something quick, or something slow?
Rhymes with rumblings, swirls below.
We see the stars, beyond the sky,
So many stars that pass us by,
All bedecked with more unknowns
Like scribblings on a further stone
A night of sheer immensity, upon the nano-scale,
Or a night when our mere dreamings will prevail?
It is now a little light,
Dawn cuts across the sky
And in this sheer immensity,
Mountains and cliffs do not drift away,
It's just we, the people, who cannot stay.
We, the merely human, scratch our messages
On walls, on parchment, paper, screen.
We want our passing presence to be recorded, to be seen.
Something is always closing down but something opens, too:
Eyes, hearts, hands, flowers, possibilities; life is up to you.
Good fortune will accrue to some with dearest heart
Echoing the Cogito, ergo sum of René Descartes
Someone's door left wide open, some windows, open in the heat.
With an outlook upon eternity, that's scattered, unorthodox, replete with regret
We forget the minutes, seconds, afternoons
Our lives all rounded with a sleep and measured out with coffee-spoons.