Is this
moment in time a razor’s edge,
Where
past and future fall off precipitously
In
opposite directions?
Is it as vacillating
as the shoreline,
Where the
hard grains of the past slip under
The
dancing waves of the future?
Is it a
single spot of color,
Surrounded
by swirling pigments of the past and future,
Casting
various shades on the central splotch of the present?
Can every
moment be one of acute consciousness?
Or are
the moments lacking in intentionality,
A balance
essential for sanity?
And when
the final grain falls through the hour glass,
Will I
collide with the brick wall of death,
Crumple
at its foundation, and claw my way through?
Or will I
slip gracefully and effortlessly,
Through a
filmy drape of gauze.
Into a brighter
and more intense reality?
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