Tag Archives: mind
They say time is a healer but…
Time has no hands, no feet, and no voice to speak.
With no needs to meet,
You and I create time
Time doesn’t have feelings
It doesn’t have love or hate to deal with
It can’t discern the fantasist from the realist.
It can’t read your reactions
Nor does it have a face to face the consequences
You and I create time
You and I decide between dark and light
You and I decide when we’re ready to walk into the deep
We weep until the drought is fierce
We survive on the fruits of our faith in the reflections we find
You and I create time
Will time test and tell or do you and I indulge in the canonisation of self-preservation
Creating tall tales with foundations for generations
Do we tell many times so that time can tell.
If time talked, we could have a conversation
If time healed, maybe I’d have regular vaccinations because shoulda, woulda, coulda, never turns time’s tables.
Now if time can be bought, how do you loot it, can it be taken?
They say there’s time for everything, but all I see is man’s arrangement.
Like learning English as a foreign language, the context is a maze in
the fact that we are but choices of creation
If eternity is really time, a paradise that we’re awaiting
What materials are you building with if life is simply time that we’re creating?
Written circa November 2006, this is the last post for the challenge. It feels good to look back at where I’ve come from as a writer. Thank you for reading,
Every word spoken on this earth is a ritual
Unless it’s inspired by the divine at the time, it cannot be defined as truly individual
Uniqueness is the relative of beauty desired by all
If true love is unconditional
Are the partakers truly unique individuals?
Experience is definitions fly on the wall in the documentaries of our lives
But we find uniqueness essence cannot be repeated
Humans are fruit smoothies – mixture of common features
We try to emphasise unique things, a lot of our plus points
From our personal couture to our cultural standpoints
Common concepts are the paternal subtexts that drive us
Culture is our car
Exquisitely designed without a need for eyes
For unique defines not I but who we are
White sands fell between them
The morning tide kissed their foreheads
New palms bowed and curtsey in turn
Clouds yawned for the first time as the sky opened its eyes
The wind smiled like a new-born after its first feed
Time had walked the shortest distance from their wrist to their hands
Steady as the drizzle of summer rain, they breathed
Whispers tiptoed from their lips into the oxygen
Like hydrogen they ignited as understanding embraced
Good morning to love said the flame
Finding their soul frequency retinas roared
Detonated heart beats battling soon soothed to an echo
Atlas had become compass in a blink
Yet this was Eden and it would be human to think
So they admired
The apple of their eye was a fruit of their spirit
They’d given lives to acquire the rights to the orchard
Merely breathing was deemed eating of the moment and
Building a city of roses required appetite so apple blossom became staple diet
Welcome to life said the Middle Tree
I was nominated by another poet via Facebook to post a poem each day for 5 days. This poem could be freshly written or something that hadn’t been posted before. I’ve opted for faith in the poems I’ve had less contact with since they’ve been written.
Fighting in the ring of denial
Looking for that knockout blow
Moving in white lies
But I can never avoid the speed of reason
The power of logic comes home to roost on my chin
If truth can set you free
Then my mind is housed in glass doomed to crack and shatter
What is the purpose of fighting truth when revelation is a redeeming knowledge served on a platter for you to add to your arsenal
Wisdom is an acquaintance of knowledge
An acquisition that will not arrive horse drawn.
Wisdom and knowledge are the bridge with railings we deploy to ensure we cross through situations safely
Without these tools we crash into trouble at breakneck speed
Just as your five fruit a day
We need these
At the end of the weak
They stare down from the bridge like a speed trap
Ill-fated like candles on a heat map
Two face that six deep till their eaves drop
Speak war ‘til they detox
The air they’re breeding? I need that
Photo finishes lose their gloss, so forward thinking I read back.
Embracing these ventilations with open windows
We can christen or crescendo until the wind has lost our taste
If giving is charity, does a casket rest the case?
Is time well spent when interest cools?
Does time erase? Does time even have tools?
Are unheard sentiments simply sediment.
If pretty flowers must die, are they worth your remembrance?
Will you choose to bury them?
If principles are the rule, is perception the real measurement?
Our bouquet pendulums have greater range than a peregrine
What’s your addendum?
Is it the copy of your recipe or the flavour of your beef?
Every decision we make writes our story
Is yours a magazine?
Is it live and let die or do we force some to breathe?
It seems some can’t believe that pretty flowers… must die
She handed me Daffodils
Like acid rain curating a rock face
My eyes like barren barrels filled with fatherly fermentation
Her smile could not smell my in sense
If posession is nine tenths of the law, then holding them I was broken
Sometimes silence is the truth unspoken
Yet when she planted those daffodils, my future exploded
I became a golden goal den
Yearning for the day, when daffodils aren’t the only ting I’m holding