The mind hangs in silence
All is stilled—thoughts lingering
Lazily as if in a cosmic animation;
No words drip from the faucet that once
Streamed waters of creation; now there’s
Only empty air passing over the idle lexis;
How deceiving is the thought, idle mind.
A dormant volcano quietly creates its inner
Explosive flow; so does the idle mind, its own.
No creation is ever void of time—
Time itself God used to speak into creation;
Is not she the Garden of Eden within herself?
Katydids are timed in metamorphosis; babes
In the womb; black holes in the depth of time’s time.
In all creation time is an instant of the eternity of self.
Thus, the poem is a creature of time
Germinating in the womb of the mind;
Even pre-mature births are in time.
While time its self does not wait,
We must wait on the timing of time;
For in its own time is the poem delivered.
To A Poetic Timeline
(For Poets of Poetic Faith)
The mind hangs in silence
All is stilled—thoughts lingering
Lazily as if in a cosmic animation;
No words drip from the faucet that once
Streamed waters of creation; now there’s
Only empty air passing over the idle lexis;
How deceiving is the thought, idle mind.
A dormant volcano quietly creates its inner
Explosive flow; so does the idle mind, its own.
No creation is ever void of time—
Time itself God used to speak into creation;
Is not she the Garden of Eden within herself?
Katydids are timed in metamorphosis; babes
In the womb; black holes in the depth of time’s time.
In all creation time is an instant of the eternity of self.
Thus, the poem is a creature of time
Germinating in the womb of the mind;
Even pre-matured births are in time.
While time its self does not wait,
We must wait on the timing of time;
For in its own time is the poem delivered.
To A Poetic Timeline
(For Poets of Poetic Faith)
The mind hangs in silence
All is stilled—thoughts lingering
Lazily as if in a cosmic animation;
No words drip from the faucet that once
Streamed waters of creation; now there’s
Only empty air passing over the idle lexis;
How deceiving is the thought, idle mind.
A dormant volcano quietly creates its inner
Explosive flow; so does the idle mind, its own.
No creation is ever void of time—
Time itself God used to speak into creation;
Is not she the Garden of Eden within herself?
Katydids are timed in metamorphosis; babes
In the womb; black holes in the depth of time’s time.
In all creation time is an instant of the eternity of self.
Thus, the poem is a creature of time
Germinating in the womb of the mind;
Even pre-matured births are in time.
While time its self does not wait,
We must wait on the timing of time;
For in its own time is the poem delivered.