The transience of time.
This is a poem I wrote over two years ago about the transience of time.
I call it The Realm of Passing By.
As I walk down an unknown path,
The realm of passing by,
The birds high in the sky,
Flying in a view formation,
Above the clouds above my mind,
The water running downstream,
Leaf-scaning wings,
Time slowly passing by,
The ticking clocks I can hear but can't see,
Irregular beats of hearts,
The seconds passing by,
Young girls who cry,
Soon to become mothers of young girls who dream,
Mothers who become grandmothers,
Trying to hold on,
But nothing is everlasting,
Transience the lover of time,
The old man whose face I cannot see,
His footsteps gone,
The young man with glasses who shares wisdom in an instant out of sight,
The golden blueprints of men,
Misinterpretations of the divine,
Fear,
Monsters forged by the conditioned mind,
Limitations the gods hoped time would leave behind.
I can see purpose passing by in front of my tiny eyes,
Grains of sand in the orchestra of the infinite,
A flame burning for no reason,
A kind smile from a stranger,
The young deity dressed in white,
Her soft touch everlasting,
Her eyes a mirror of stars,
Her lips a kiss of spirit,
A stranger passing by,
Other and I one,
Synchronistic encounters,
Dances under the full moon of imagination,
Equations of thoughts,
Nothingness,
The destination of all souls passing by,
Seeking for answers we walk in circles,
Searching for something in the equation of emptiness,
You and I are the same,
Can't you see,
There is no you or me,
One we are passing by,
I listen to the storm as it roars,
The rain wets my feet,
My shoes are heavy,
My body is light,
I observe the joker,
The little monkey within my mind,
Jumping from tree to tree,
In silence I smile as it passes by,
I am not the furious storm or the monkey that jumps,
I am the one who walks under the sky,
Through the storm of the mind I walk,
I run,
I stop and see the monkey that resides inside me,
He wants to play but there is no longer time,
The monkey is not you,
The monkey is not I,
The storm is passing by,
Chaos is a construction of the human mind,
I wave and I say hello,
I wave and I say goodbye,
As the invisible prophets laugh and the blind men paint upon the canvas of life,
I watch the strings connect everything,
In this dream I am the boy,
I am the man with no name who walks through this strange place I call home,
The realm of passing by.
