Infinite Self

Sat, 08/01/2015 - 14:08 -- Abell

I stand between old man musings and child’s play, because I am neither.

I stand unwilling to accept where I shall land, waiting to float a little, to levitate above the cold ground,

to ask myself where I will fall when my dimming power cuts and the smoke distinguishes me from the crowd, or extinguishes me.

 

Beneath the steadfast gaze of time unbroken and still moved forward,

even the mighty fall into routine and forget they have an end. I do not forget.

I stand and plead. Please let me grow!

For if I was meant to stand in the past, I would’ve died yesterday.

And isn’t that something?

 

We all boldly, hopefully, look to the future. We should.

My past, my present, the elegant and petrified future with the curves of time and cracks of strife and failure,

I look to them. Even now, when grasping in the night.  

I pick apart the pieces of time like a falling map. They land in the dark sea, surrounded by stars.

I stare into their oblivion with colored eyes, which match the black holes, galaxies, and my soul.

I am so varied, so rich, in the texture of my life, and the lives of those around me.

And isn’t that something?

 

So stretch and collapse,  not as unwilling as a stack of thick minds.

Dip into the universe and emerge-- covered with wisdom, joy, and still unknowing.

Listen to the heavy sigh of life.

Dance, but only when the world deserves its presence.

Laugh, but only when it’s heard by ears with passion.

Be hope. Be it firmly and openly, and be listening, dancing, laughing, loving, sharing, absorbing, moving.

Immerse your mind within all.

And still you will find it is only a fraction of your infinite self’s possibilities.

And isn’t that something?

 

Now the stars are different. They possess a certain boldness and loveliness.

Rest easy they say, lift your mind’s woes with newly attained brightness.

see the mind and its amazingness

This poem is about: 
Me
Our world

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