Years, months — or a day — since eyes last met
Perhaps my subconscious’ conjuring,
in the midst of which I wake up — in a sweat.
Or merely the mind’s attempt to fill the hole…
Perhaps more accurate a representation...of my perception,
than the reality. Who knows.
But it is a painful secret to keep,
and a hard-enough price to pay.
A reckoning of ample pain and stress,
for after all, how can someone give away…
something they no longer possess?
I collected shells, I built a box.
Bought a tree, passed up on Fort Knox.
And delicately, deliberately…
It seems that the best art peers behind a veil,
of our knowledge, that's then perhaps — why it's enticing.
It deals in the currency that is not easily grappled with,
at the forefront,
A child thinks in Cops and Robbers,
Before developing any sort of theory of morality.
But truth — nonetheless — is embedded in the story,
and from the story, it is gleaned — before being pulled out
and subsequently rationalized.
Similarly — art is the human imagination taking some physical form, it is creation.
And happiest, its seems — or at least most alive…
Designed by the finest — engineers in all the land.
Physicists and mathematicians, they all lent a hand.
The engine fast — electric too!
The power of thousands of horses,
And no single person knew…
How all the parts together fit — complexity immense.
Electronics, mechanics, computer science…
And the union making sense?
Inner panels mahogany, white plush reclining seats.
The flooring is a woody mauve, top chefs provide the eats.
The job, however, is not yet done — seems never will it be.
A lighter, faster, stronger trend,
many such numbers do not end.
Fights over the driver, common…
When flailing along a path,
or walking confidently along.
Whether the path is rightly mine,
or I interpreted the signs wrong.
Whether it is, in fact, a path at all
—and no matter how tough the terrain,
it sure does — at least to me — seem,
to happen over and over again;
that when we walk, along this earth,
in the not altogether metaphorical sense,
that we carry with us our chisels from birth,
and with these, we will mount our offense.
though they're much more like blocks at first —
and blocks being quite ineffective tools,
There was never more an elusive rabbit,
but only if your aim is to catch it.
Smile, laugh — stroke it as you,
progress — or something else pursue.
But turn around — and resume the hunt,
and you’ll find — you’ll see — far out in front…
a twinkle of white, soon most out of view,
hard to make out, a cloud against the blue.
Until again you forget to look,
and from under your top — that rabbit does pop!
For it knows — as only it would know,
how it’s breath of life comes, and how it goes.
When we turn attention to people — and things elsewhere,
Pinnochio rabbit — on our heels, I swear!
So do this and think yourself well-fed and sated —
To find on your shoulder a rabbit you yourself created.
The smallest fraction, how can it be finite,
Though if you weren’t, one could never think time might
…stretch out into a lifetime, nor journeys of sublime height.
Allow the stars to flick their paint — and create the skylight.
Yet ‘back then’, ‘forthcoming’ — palpable, despite…
Feynman’s science to the contrary, where every single history,
way back to antiquity, so seemingly contradictory,
yet not so much a mystery — as one may think…
Look! You’re truly all there is to see, only wherein we can be,
for its only in — this moment, you, that we—we’re free.
That dark part inside, do not leave it untied, for the tyranny it could release.
Keep it locked down, though it must be around — that ancient, satanic beast.
Trickster in story, many faces bear he, all-throughout the chapters of time.
But the force is the same, the “problem-of-the-game”, into which many actively climb.
See it starts with a seed — revenge, envy, greed — from this sprouts warped-justification.
And before long you’d see, those stronger than me, the power gives them elation.
Understand why? …
Years gone by, and back was I
A hometown turned-city, though the grocery store remained
Amongst the canned-goods, my Anima stood, it had been near a decade
I saw her there, that store, that day — sometime in late July
And suddenly, in my twenties again, camping — her and I
There it went, my heart again, by it, again — betrayed
A young boy with a pack of sweets, tried her to persuade
Still beautiful, but to my pedestal: this time I could say “goodbye”
A mother now, and — regret not there, I hoped this we did both…
Have you ever been told that you have Attention Deficit (Hyperactivity) Disorder? If so, you probably know that you are most certainly not alone:
Inquisitive data scientist and physical asset management consultant from South Africa. Interested in history.