I was going to post a large rant about my job, but I'm rather thankful that it has provided me with some insurance to get some necessary surgery. So halfway through it, I felt guilty. I will instead...post another poem. This is one about our capacity, as humans, to waste time. It is something I feel we have perfected. Here it goes:
The Chasm (or the Wasting of Time)
The great chasm rests in the earth
In the center of all man, great and small, courageous and afraid
It is unto a mighty gulf, fixed for all to gaze upon,
As a hideous scream amidst a sea of silence.
Impossible to pass over…of course, no!
Impossible for it to reach us…of course, no!
For dotted around the gulf, as a halo on the ground
Are gateways, numbered for each soul to enter
They take us into pathways which lead us into
The impossible place.
Impossible to pass over…of course, no!
Impossible for it to reach us…of course, no!
We follow them with such ease
As if freezing unto death, we feel a rising heat
We embrace the pathways before us and walk into its grasp
Until we reach the bottom of that impossible place, into the chasm
What mystery lies before us in this impossible place?
Only to discover it is everything we need.
Assume it has no shape, touch, sound, or taste…
Assume it is your love, passion, pleasure, and essence as one
It appears unto us as a forest, in the bottom of this dark, impossible place
It has one name…Time
Time is its name…this grove of green lushness in this pristine place
But alas, we were born to carry this axe.
In the manner of life, as we all know
We have learned one thing only and that is the following:
To carry this axe, with the pride of a lioness over her cubs
Born with it from the womb, yielding it masterfully, fearfully
The forest…Time…be damned, in this impossible place
We clear it with the urgency of a child on fire
The lushness laid waste, the trees now removed
This chasm is empty of the blackness, once strong
Into furniture, no! Into houses…why, no!
Into firewood, no! Into the fire…why, yes!
Time is burned thoroughly on account of our axe
We have done it well.
No use was our Time.
Recommended listening while reading this poem. Not recommended listening, but recommended watching: "The Beaver", starring Mel Gibson and Jodie Foster
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