Time Without Moments
When a writer writes, and an artist opens her eyes, Sadness dies a joyous death while Dulirium dances in the depths,
Pondering and postulating
the existence of Time and the revolutions which brought us to this precise moment,
Confused, yet determined,
To find purpose in the end;
So obdurate to forget this moment because it is not precious enough to hold a place in our sacred and untouchable safe–
Sacred and safe only while we resist the digital dungeon, the library of all that is known, the brain of the enigma.
Confusion is uncomfortable,
So we strive to finish our race
And in the end, when we are doused with data,
One match, stray and kinetic,
Will disintegrate us all
And our purposeful ashes will nourish the Earth until she gives us another chance to find destination in moments rather than in time.
But until then, our purposeful ashes will nourish the Earth
And the Earth will revolve all the same.