We hold on to the fleeting present, sparse and amorphous like
Falling, trickling, seeping sand between
the loose fingers of consciousness
Losing, sublimating into the ether of memory, the forgotten
Lint of a weathered past
We fear frail indistinct fragments, cracked, crackled, coarse, cluttered
The tip-tapping, tick-tocking, clink-clanking hush of haunting
Muddled filaments lined with meaning that refuses
To disentangle from the macramé of recollections
Surly esoteric moments that used to
Move and meander our reality
Now miniscule footnotes buttressed against the weight of past
Lovers, lives, learning, longing
So we seek permanence, to deny our mortality
We write, and build, and think, and express
Creating manifestations that reflect
an imagined distinction, delicate translations
Borne of a hunger for acknowledgement, admission,
and acceptance as contrarian
But man’s immortality lies upon the intangible
For objects, like man, weathers, withers, wilts, and is wanting
It is in the seed we plant among our brothers,
Bits of ourselves broken apart, shared, imbibed, dissolved, ingested
Parts of our parts, becoming parts of theirs
Enriching, enlightening, educating,
Forming, deforming, informing
In that hope that when we pass, we surpass
Not in tangible, impermeable, impenetrable objects detached
From the flesh of our being, the nectar of our psyche;
But as missed, unforgotten advocates of humanity
Adding to the richness of culture and society, as our predecessors have.
[A blitzkrieg-exercise done in observance of All Soul's Day, this was written within the span of 15 minutes, a rather mundane attempt of encapsulating the immediacy and fleeting nature of memory, and the overwhelming recidivist effects of grief. May we all never forget, and never be forgotten.]
Original image from
here.
