April 10: Future

Time's touch; Tomorrow

 

Time's touch

The lord of time’s footsteps were soft on the mosaic floor,
two fingers holding aside a silk curtain hung there to obscure
the world from his mortal touch – but he had to watch
the cunning fae, maiden of life, dancing and laughing, her tinkle
filling the garden as she entwined herself in scents and breezes
that rustled the greens wound across the pergola set to shield her;
stars sparkled afire in her eyes, mirrored by the sprinkles of light
only half hidden above through those leaves, and the lord of time
found himself enraptured by her soft beauty…
cold had seeped into his bones from the chill of endlessness,
yet his eyes remained forever timeless, but as he watched from
the niche between two existences where he hid: the cold bled, and
a dark fire of hunger kindled in his gaze; something deep within
commanded that he must set a moment to come and pass, to touch
the world again and set aside the designs of the weaving: a heartbeat
began pulsing in his chest as he stepped, and he relinquished
his hold on eternity to join the fae in her primordial dance,
unheeding of the world spinning faster, of beginnings and endings
swirling with his every step, his midnight eyes fastened to that
of the fae’s, her feet faltering for a moment to meet his gaze—
the lord of time hesitated, knowing his own face, but
a slow, lush smile curled her lips, her eyes promising things
that now were yet to come, but first, as their hands met:
the essence of life and time blended; his lips hot with blood rushing,
and her sweet laughter still promising as he kissed, time finally
took off his dark velvet mask, golden embroidery sparkling,
seed pearls glinting coolly with light from a place betwixt night and day,
and lines began spiraling from the garden as they danced
her delicate fingers weaving intricate patterns that he stretched ahead:
a soft blanket on which they stepped, ever moving forward to
what awaited them: the lord of time was preoccupied,
never heeding the mortality seeping from him into existence,
his blood only pulsed for where the fae led him:
a bed where he could finally rest,
and where she could join him…

 

April 10, 2014

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Tomorrow

Fascinations are my vices,
fingers digging into my skin to hold me still,
but my will is weak against such delights:
moonlit nights and sunrises, storms and
vibrant hues – fascinations spread
a map of the cosmos before my eyes, and
takes apart the fibers of existence; my hands
designed for books and ancient maps,
my mind wrapped with the attentions of
a witty tongue and inspiring moments,
with silhouetted figures dancing the tune
of heroes and legends, and always:
there is time enough ahead,
time for tomorrow and to finish all I’ve started.

Surreptitious cracks spidering across reality
hold a special place in my heart, a myriad
of enigmas to explore and adore with
fervent dreams of joining ethereal eternity;
those mysteries are the blood in my veins
and the very air I breathe: but always
there is something that must be done,
a duty bestowed, a promise of results—
yet the keenness dulls when time keeps dragging,
I find myself lagging behind and staring into
emptiness to find form,
flowing nature to divine a pattern, and
though time brings moments of joy and mourning,
there is always time tomorrow, time to stop and think.

Time passes relentlessly and carves itself
into me with effortless ease, and as I pondered
and created, the wheel kept turning, and I found myself
out of time and touched with twinges of new madness:
here is all I love and want, but there is no time,
not a moment of respite to finish that last line,
never a sliver of relief as the world presses on:
I am left behind and scrambling forward—
time would have me in knots,
always reminding me of things I forgot,
ever moving without a care of things waiting for
discovery, all of them mere hindrances:
for tomorrow has past, tomorrow is gone, and I am
never sure I turned my attention ahead fast enough.

 

April 10, 2014

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