All inside of me, so many threads
moment by moment I pass through
such utterly different spaces.
My joy and pain wash over me
as sunshine and rain.
This moment hangs before me
and I think ‘now’, and feel it
and later, if it comes again,
I will feel nothing’s gone between.
The passing of time itself
is the illusive dream.
Timeless and deathbound both are we.
Decaying flesh and shining light.
Minds that believe in time
and spirits asleep but free.
So we ache through each page of our play
live and die in small increments
as the living weathers us
and we cannot turn away
and if we see time’s cloth
pierced through for a moment
this cannot stay the living,
lessen the heartache,
or make our pain go away.
We are ink drops into the water of life,
smoke into His great sky.
We appear, transfixed, between becomings,
and can only laugh or cry.
gallagher
23 Oct 85
— Copyright 1965-2008 by Dennis Gallagher —
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