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Momentary Speculations
by Jan Sand
2018-07-09 07:00:12
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Momentary Speculations

To grasp the asp of termination
Cleopatric germination
Of finality
Dispatches all reality,
Culminates fatalities of all ambition,
Elicits that admission of condition
To banish.
So that rain and wind, Moon and sunlight
moment01When I and eye comply to fly away
From night and day,
From Earth itself that no more spins
Or swings through summer, winter, Fall,
No longer there, all or me
To be neither enslaved or free.
We’ve been there,
You and me
Timelessly beneath no sky,
No hate, no love, no desire
No ice, no earth, no fire,
And shall, in time, return.
Yet, I do not yearn
To leave this place, this condition,
This persistent admission
Chained to air, to light, nutrition.
The tumbled qualities of hours
Wherein disaster crouches, glowers
And, on occasion, even offers flowers,
Patterns, exultations, elements
Of relations that still yield
The embrace of molecule to molecule
To trace the twitch of space when energies
Engage, comingle re-enforce or divorce intention,
Celebrate the very primal texture of the basic stuff
That declares we exist. For we are not
Conglomerates of spots of unintended happenstance.
We are the dance, the joy of touch and pass.
The eyelook glance of oxygen that flings electric fields,
That swings electron skirts and flirts seductively
With carbon’s placidities to tempt its possibilities.
For love and desire ignite the fire, inspire
Inherent elements that dart and spin beneath
The depths of quantum elusivity.
Here has no place to stand, but must race
The fields of microseconds, while novas burst
And galaxies carousel to flee that black central hell
Which gobbles matter into impenetrable mystery.
Once the sense of existence is tasted,
Flavored out of eye and ear and scents
Of distant eternities tingle and comingle
To seduce with lightning flash into perception,
No deception conjured from unknowingness
Can vie with the loveliness of life.
So will I grip this place in space,
Hold tight with all my might
To mists of yesterday, promises of tomorrow.
Anything is well worth hanging on
To this amazing gift of being
That comes only once
And then flees like a shadow over snow.

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