A split division of time traversing distance,
A minds inability to commute, conjures resistance,
But the soul craves truth, is insistent…
Now, is a concept of time rooting us to a moment,
the past as we breathe air into lungs deflating
before the present has a chance to conceive
Plausibly creating moment of movement, so we may believe.
But, I can map a Constellation of me to you, you to me,
Measure it in miles, seconds, oceans, hours, you see?
and then perceive such a chasm of space, physically.
Seven Russian dolls sitting on a shelf
A vortex of reality each within themselves
The past, the future, dimensions to delve.
Perception splits into uniformed understanding,
Group saving elicit pedigrees of knowledge
on post it notes without the sticky banding.
I perceive movement through the decaying of life,
rotting atoms of time losing this fight
But beauty is in the ancient, the essence of life.
And rebirth calls on spring whispers, always new light.
Stack the dolls in a black hole of despair
Merge linear perceptions, viewing to share,
and now becomes everything, yet, never quite there.
Nothing, all, void, everything… Space we now share.
Space we now share, kinetic vibrations
a pendulum swings dispersing sedation
Time, distance, miles and oceans have no relation,
In chiming sequence of tolling bells
A moments space, a moments realisation.
No distance, miles, seconds or otherwise,
Just two beneath the glittered skies
A moment captured, paused and stilled
together, now, nothing, everything and all,
Time conceptualised in beats of seconds
moving hands and changing dates…
…and there between the beats I found you, here but there… Here, together through the shared sense of now… There, seconds, miles, hours and oceans. Not here, not there… But somewhere.
Karen Hayward ©2018
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