The Seconds of Eternity


gustave_courtois_-_adam_et_eve_au_jardin_dedenTis morrow….the stillness, a sentinel without direction

As we wait on responses from things not yet disclosed

History reveals the question of the ages…

Will the moment of happening reveal itself?

A pause of many snippets of time aligning so effortlessly

The silence of eternal secrets, oft branded as mysteries

Yet by design their esoteric nature casts them as such

For things exist which explanation holds no bridle nor cuff


Gather all ye seekers of knowledge, those with astute attentiveness

Gaze heavily upon the ticking seconds, for never again shall they be

Finite divisions of a sweeping hand, knowing but a single direction

The never ending rhythmic arch is focused but none know exactly

Shall we digress and cast time as the villain, taking and never giving back

Draining the essence of the masses, slowly, powerfully, and with malice?

Perhaps not, in spite of all that which might be imagined or implied

History reveals the opportunist taking payment from exploitation


So from the shadows, observing the stage that has been set

Every prop masterfully positioned and the seasoned cast in position

In this a production of the grand and laborious work we call love?

And if so, can we decide on what the scriptwriters put to ink?

Shall we encourage lines of despair and endless sorrows?

A tragic dance with stolen happiness and an abrupt demise

Perhaps a marathon of courtship with much predictability?

That with nothing of substance to enchant the reviewer

faded paper

With many offerings and many ideas and endless opportunity

The choice lies solely on the moment of happening

Hence the trepidation on the errant decision and timing

For time will not stand at the ready awaiting the needs of men

Like an instructor of dance with a marionette cast

The timekeepers will yield to the words on the page

Yet only to maintain the rhythm and flow of the movement

Provided no attempt to wrinkle the prevailing fabric


On the cue of step, the strings of the puppets shall play

And subtle directions invoke a cavalcade of motions

Pieces shuffled on a game board with no boundaries

Meant to confuse and dazzle and little more

The ruse carefully reflecting that aforementioned mystery

Additional grand theatrics and high drama follow the arc

Choruses of voices casting echoes and misdirection

High society’s blasting trumpets and clashing swords


The scene calls for more, as simply enough is not satisfactory

Excess and extremism;the crowds demand such frivolity

For that is what makes moments of remembrance, or so thought

Action and circumstances, each grander than those of before

Indeed the mistakes, pitiful excuses laid bare to the world

Disgust looms over this unknowing and unkempt approach

The handbook of time gives no guidance for unnecessary excesses

Drama and action are but sweets for the starving masses


In the minds where openness takes precedent afore sensationalism

There a message may be established, and eventually take root

For tis Love we speak of, in all of it’s glory and beauty

And yes, it does preside amongst the highest of life’s mysteries

Anchored it is not, to that ever turning wheel of time

And never will it be held fast by a pen, script or tome

Contribution to drama, are mercifully few, and for moments

Yes to their happening, but also to their passing and fading


And to those who hold their measure of love by a timepiece

They shall ever be enslaved in its temperament and finality

And when the sad wings of destiny lay folded and silent

Then death shall be the moment of eternal parting

Alas, that notion has been so distorted by the puppets and posers

True lovers agree that the real source lies forgotten, hiding in plain site

Time is the avenue which paves pathways into eternity

For this life will give way to the next and further to the next


Understanding that Love and time are related, however distantly

The touch of irony to those who understand, stop to smile

Recalling how terms of eternity and forever are casually thrown about

While transcendence across the spatial boundary is nary a consideration

Lovers in love, living their single lives, missing the greater potential

Already in their satisfaction of eternity and forever not being tabulated

And the masses attending the orchestrated actions of the pair, in acceptance

Notwithstanding the possibility of an education beyond that which is apparent


Tis perhaps an invitation from those forces unseen and unknown

Bear witness to the hourglass and set a course for eternity and beyond

Step forth into the realm where a lifetime is but a blink of an eye

And a blink of an eye is no longer shackled by the turning hands of time

As thoughts evolve into understanding, and concepts become solid with form

The question of old once again becomes a subject of conversation

Will the moment of happening finally reveal itself?

And if it shall, will the pair be adept in their understanding?


For true love cannot be written, as script, as song, or as a function of time itself

Only upon realization that its already a resident within the heart

And the question of ponderance isn’t tied to the moment of realization

Instead it’s the understanding of knowing that Love is limitless

Yet, most strive as workers of the verse, carefully steering the raw emotions

Constructing memories and moments that shall fade in passing

Beauty comes forth and beauty fades, as physicality is owned by the hour

And the bittersweet ending of the courtship, and the finality of passing


While so few, so very few, observe with a shared and heavy remorsefulness

Those who pass from this moment into a moment of nothingness

Minds closed to the possibility there are possibilities beyond belief

True Love casts a delightful shadow on the seconds of eternity

As this lifetime gives way to the next lifetime, and the ones afar

Together we’ll find ourselves, not by accident, but by design

Existing in the blind spot that time cannot reach nor influence

Our moment of happening is every moment of evermore…

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