I grasp at life’s fleeting vision for it will pass
As all things must.
As the morning passes into evening
And as the sun sets prism-split
I grasp at their light.
And as the greens of spring give way to autumn’s browns,
I try to recall their shades.
But all passes, even memories.
A blue blanket with white elephants: it has passed.
A singing bird – wildness tamed – has spent itself.
A child’s friends, real as they were,
do even their names linger?
But sorrow remains.
Perhaps sorrow does not pass.
People pass, and their love too.
Some, as I, follow fading light,
Our paths becoming parallel, never to cross again.
Some pass by death.
Love become unilateral is bittersweet with sorrow.
And the love dies, but the sorrow does not.
Doubts may be dispelled,
But convictions are shattered
Even God’s own image passes
What was immutable becomes process,
And certitude seems an ephemeral stamp.
So love of the present must continue,
And grow by the progression of that which has passed.
For the past is dust
The future a groundless dream.
Only the present remains
As it passes relentlessly, convincingly…