It keeps on moving forward.
Sometimes through light, sometimes through darkness.
Sometimes it smells like shit, and sometimes it’s comfortable. A feeling
Of floating above
The ground which rolls beneath us
Like the great harem of thunder breaking
From vicious clouds above;
Masses of grey tumbling waves
Which scatter the vitality that we need.
And it keeps on rolling, tumbling, floating
From day to day
To month to year.
A flash of a moment sitting in the sun’s beams,
In a pub or a car perhaps,
Where everything is in motion and noise reigns, but it is silent all at once.
A singularity, broken instantly
By flow, motion and thrust,
Into the next one, yes this memory persists
And that is where living truly lies.
24th September 2023
Comments