© 2016 JOHN K MCILWAIN.

About Time

 

To think

Sitting here on this so solid stone,

Ancient, crevassed, weathered,

That we are cousins

Born of a common ancestor,

A magic flash long, long ago.

 

And more –

That stone and I

Real as we may seem,

Solid flesh and hardened rock,

Are but illusions,

Made of empty space,

Quivering points of brilliant light.

 

Well, cousin,

Fellow mist and dream,

What of cousin water?

Do you two ever talk

As you share caresses

On this soft afternoon?

 

Why should I be

The only chatterbox

Spilling endless words

Upon the gentle air.

 

Words with all the weight

And meaning

Of the barnacles,

And waving seaweed,

That dress you

In such elegance.

 

And by what perversity,

By what myth and law,

Has it been declared

That all about me

Should be mine?

 

Who among us,

Descendants all of the cosmic storm,

Has right to call dominion?

What heathen god

Divided the firmament,

Took upon himself

The nonsense

That any one would rule?

 

What if we

And all the cousins

Rose up as one,

Tossed the old fool out,

Proclaimed the truth,

One heritage,

One past, one future,

One family?

 

Why the hell not?

Isn’t it about time?