What is the point at which all things converge?
Where is the place at which the seas submerge?
When is time?
Why does it stay… away… from me?
And why does no body,
not even the Pope,
know
how
all this
mish mash
unfolds?
Who says that up is up?
Who says blue is blue?
Who says the sky is falling?
Who told you?
Who told you the truth?
Was it the wind sweeping down through the grass?
Was it the sun warming up the earth?
Was it the waters bubbling?
Was it the rains fall?
Or maybe it was Man:
Hammering down the iron
Pulling up the gold
Building barriers
Blocking briars
Smelting silver
Sheltering sinners.
Perhaps, but perhaps not.
“Perhaps” is a funny word.
Perhaps the sun will set and never rise.
Perhaps the ocean will finally be filled.
Perhaps the birds forget to fly.
Perhaps this is all a lie,
a beautiful lie.
But perhaps not.
Perhaps it’s all true.
Perhaps me and you.
Perhaps it’s true.
True, me and you.
True, my heart is blue.
True, I love you.
True, that roses are red
True, that I am a fool.
True, that trust has bleed-
Out,
True, out into a small pool
Beneath your pillow
Waiting all wet and tired
For a final billow
Of fire
A fire to steam up
A fire to stream out
A fire to burn through
A fire to melt down
A fire to meld together
Our fallen flesh and fate forever.
Where is Honest Time when you need him?
