On a Cold Day in January

On a cold day in January
I watch
As snowflakes fall to the frozen ground
Softly
Retaining their form
To form a thin membrane across the surface of the Earth
Even in distribution
A reflection
In so many ways
Of the very symmetry each individual shape carries in it’s fragile form

In time
The air will grow warmer
And the frigid strands
Which stretch across the nearly unobservable spaces betwen
Will slowly melt
As their contents pool and join
To sink beneath
And travel ever onwards

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To Not Be Filled with Wonder

Inspired by the poem Not to Wonder by Tornadoday.

To not be filled with wonder
When staring up at the starry skies above
When looking out at the great expanse and seeing only light
In all directions
Moving
So fast
And yet so slowly
As representations of long-dead distant worlds float ceaselessly through empty space
Waiting to be discovered
Waiting to be seen
And experienced
To be known
And therefor to have existed

To not be filled with upmost awe
When gazing down through focused glass
When observing clearly a tiny realm and revealing only chance
And strings
That extend in all directions
Moving
Rapidly
And yet with such precision
Carving representations of possibilities limitless and relatively absurd in nature
Waiting to be observed
Waiting to be recorded
And understood
To be known
And therefor to have existed

Black Dog

Black dog wakes up in the morning
and looks outside
so he can see the sky;
He likes to watch the sun rise.

But then it’s back to sleep,
Gone, but for a moment,
Lost in dreams until the master cries:
“Oh, black dog… rise.”

Yearning,
Dreaming of another;
Life it seems
Is always passing us by,
As we just wonder why,
And lord how we try…
Not just
To make it out, alive…
But to live a life
Of substance,
To not break down
And fall apart and just die.

Black dog wakes up in the morning
and looks outside
so he can see the sky;
He likes to watch the sun rise.

But then it’s back to sleep,
Gone, but for a moment,
Lost in dreams until the master cries:
“Oh, black dog… rise.”
“Oh, black dog, rise…”

Let us seek to find
Every color of the sky
Back outside;
Outside,
Black dog…
Rise!

First thing, yeah first thing in the morning
the black dog wakes
and he opens his eyes;
He likes to watch the sunrise.

But then it’s back to sleep,
Gone, but for a moment,
Lost in dreams until the master cries:
“Oh, black dog… rise!”

All the World Waits

All the world waits
For you
Though surely there are times
Where it may feel
Like it is just beyond your reach
A realm unto itself
To be observed
But not to be interacted with

Know this
That you are
Not alone

There is so much that is not understood
About this place which we call home
So many facets of life
That are utterly beyond comprehension
From the grand and marvelous
To the seemingly mundane

Even the stars themselves
Which shine so bright in the stars above
Once thought to be fixed points of pure light
Infinite and absolute
Are but decomposing remnants
Scattered across great expanses of empty space
Many long dead
Remembered only by their lingering echoes

Our impact on those around us
Is not always clear
Nor can it be easily defined
By what we can immediately understand
And we are left to wonder
What purpose we serve

But just as the stars above
Though surely someday we will fade
Our legacy remains

Where We Fit In

There is no sky above
No Earth below
Just space
Time
Unfolding
Collapsing and expanding
Flowing through
Around
Between
All of objects and the distance between them
Filling
Each and every corner
Until there is nothing to separate
The black from the white
The light from the darkness
The shadows of night
From the glow of the day

We are but an audience
Watching
Waiting
Seeking only to know
Where we fit in

Of What, I Am Not Certain

I remember when
Our eyes opened
With the rising of the sun

The smell of morning air
And a renewal that cannot quite be captured
In words
Can only be felt
But for a moment

I remember standing
Behind a frozen pane of glass
Staring out
Into a world of swirling white
Wondering
Whether there was still anything left at all
Beyond

There is a chill which lingers
In the air even in warm rooms
Waiting
Until finding its way
Straight through thick jackets
Shirts and flesh beneath
Straight to the core
Of what, I am not certain
For I have felt it so many times before
But cannot trace
From where it started
Nor when or where it ceased to be

A Reflection of That Which Lies Beyond

Sometimes I cannot help but to be drawn
Into a state of awe and utter fascination
At the magnificent complexity of the world in which we reside
The beautiful diversity of life within it
And the vast array of relationships that develop
Both within and between the two

I am at times overwhelmed
While simultaneously confounded
At the simplicity with which we attempt to define
Reality and those who share it with us

Surely
We must understand
That there are not nor ever have been
Such simple constructs as those
Which we are inclined to project
Upon this reality
Which is not a blank screen as we might perceive
Manifest entirely as an external mirror for what lies within us
But rather a fine and elaborate work of art
To be appreciated and observed
That it might serve instead to enrich us
If not with knowledge
Then with wonder
And a drive
Not to redefine the world to suit our internal vision
But rather to build our internal world
That we might someday see
Inside ourselves
A reflection of that which lies beyond