digging through the dirt of time –
what was yours? what was mine?
messed up, mixed up memories
dilute in wine –
feelings gone, remembrance sink
into the liquid, tinted pink –
think – why think?
it’s in the past –
not meant to last –
The Spring announced itself today –
the 3rd of April –
with a flash of light
and an angry roar
it washed the winter off the ground
as it were –
And underneath the winter
suddenly the flowers, tough,
exploded from their hides
announcing: “We have had enough!”,
with birds in happy chorus chanting with them:
“Finally! Now we may live again!”
A knot was loosened,
the threads all hang
in the air –
How long remain together
with nothing to hold them in place?
The wind will throw them
here and there,
then they will fray,
and disappear –
A trembling tune of blended birdsong
in the wood at nightfall –
the setting sun, the rising mist,
the thoughts of what today’s been done –
Your graceful poise out on the porch
as you observe the fading beams of day –
it must’ve been the evening dew
that stained your cheeks – and then you’d say;
“the world is changing all too fast, and so is I,”
and turned your saddened amber eyes to me –
but I will not believe that tears could be
the substance trickling down the face of you;
the foremost of this world’s now-living men?
It cannot be – it was the evening dew.
A monumental quality
as such there shouldn’t be
in a thing as transient
as the human body.
And yet there is a sort
of perpetual strength in
the look of your muscles
and sinews tightening.
As if you were a cliff
squaring up to meet the sea;
enduring and majestic
in its rigidity.
Yet as that cliff you are
still vulnerable too –
these years that pass away
are also marking you.
So here I am at work
attempting to preserve
through graphite, yet again,
every sinew, every nerve.
They flicker in the moonlight,
two flames that steady burn –
the tides shifting and changing,
the wind blowing astern –
he’s one of those few people
who shift but ever burn –
and outshines all the others,
but never ever learn –
keep burning, flames, keep burning
the broken bonds out-burn –
what’s lost can’t be retrieved,
so leave it past, outworn –
You held me in the mist,
you looked me in the eyes.
My heart was blown adrift
and soared through earthly skies.
The moisture of the air
consumed us – breath and flesh –
and you were everywhere…
Now what is left?
The hand which held my hand is gone,
tomorrow’s yet to come…
What of the hand; will it return
Tomorrow’s yet to come, if ever it shall come…
Where now abides the hand which held my hand?
I’ll be forever living on
in this moment – my hand in your hand.
I am rumored to be a rather cynical person. In some ways it’s true. But when it comes to the internet, and its powers to connect people and share knowledge on a scale that is unsurpassed – I was all starry-eyed ideals to begin with.
I remember writing those first few lines of HTML code that is the foundation of a website, and looking at the result, heart pounding in my chest, as I realized that I had just published something that anybody, anywhere in the world could access – so long as they were connected to the network. It was a moment of pure joy; hope and the vision of a bright future where the world was interconnected in ways we used to only dream of. It looked like a dream that was about to become true, and I so badly wanted to be a part of it.
Continue reading The Possible Connection