Time Makes Fools of Us

Adam

Adam

I seek the ineffable to break the stranglehold of what I know. I fade to black, I emerge unknowable. The inevitable witnesses impossible win, awash with disbelief, staggered from its might.

Beset, of all conditions, with the weight of this mystifying life—while the planets turn and I stumble, left and right. I’m a lone adventurer, charting the stars for his celestial bride.

Pay me no mind, the enigma dressed in listless time. The smile I brandish, is stuck looking for an amiable mind. I unfold each moment, each origami task. Once I again I wake up in peril, aghast.

The eternity of a restless warrior, with myth and hope to string his bow. I am laid to rest, and pass my test. Struck out a dozen or so times, broken and wept. Sisyphus back in his nest.

Ticking, incessant as the Earth is a bore. Silenced, holed up in my narrowed sight, nothing of indeterminate fate to set me free. No Genie or heroic interlude. No cause to raise the seas.

Defiant, I am left with little recourse. I either pick up the oar, or let chaos row. This tumultuous stream finds lost souls clinging on to me. I’m bound for another fate, let the Styx be in my wake.

The ranger on the fringe, an idea faces an ailing world, that has all but forgot. I reach out into the fires and pull them from the conflagration, before they let go of who they are. There’s still time.

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