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The Burning The Burning
by Jan Sand
2018-08-07 08:30:31
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The Burning

Time is fire.
Flames touch and contemplate
The whiz of is,
The fleeing now
And render it to dust.
One must allow
burni01The evanescence of reality
To flow and form,
To turn and burn,
To eviscerate concern
So the lightning flash
Of instantaneity
Transforms all to ash,
To flakes and broken glass
To possibilities unrealized.
Each second is a blind step
Into the dark of what may be
Where one can only guess, not see.
One cannot spot
What is yet not.
There must still be
Some latent possibility,
Some value sense
To recompense
Cloudy unknowingness,
An egress to possess
Solidity.
It is a ghost.
At most a host to hope.
There is the lightest scent,
The vapor of an element
Of security.
A spice in air
To repair despair.
It does not sustain
Nor does it last
This whiff of God,
This gentle touch of tenderness
Cannot spare
Crumblings of reality.
There’s nothing there.
Nothing there.
Mere sweet breeze.
A caress of ease
From God knows where.


   
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