Nurturing Our Forever

With every day

we gather a bit,

we plant a bit.

Time’s waning irrigation

renders dry many tributaries,

yet, from high in the ethos-sphere,

some of purity’s blossoms

meander down rivulets of calm,

while certain regrets pound the drum slowly,

droning echoes from canyon to canyon.

We ask…

What of these times

when orange blossoms fill the air,

when alpine flowers sway

through seasons beside trickling brooks,

while shadowed urban concrete Avenues 

of glass and steel stand as stanchions,

guiding a density of man through an urban maze,

a gamble that the route chosen will render happiness?

Regardless of the path chosen…

There is always present

seedlings’ rough and tumble planting seasons

when sunlight seems clouded

and growth of flesh and mind

struggle for nourishment.

Yet with tempering satiation,

we arrive at periodic cultivation rewards

and suddenly new sprouting appears,

the cycling conundrum of time blinks open again,

the Bard’s handiwork resounds,

“to be or not to be.”

For such a mind-harvesting moment,

we are indeed fortunate

to remember darkness of sleep,

perpetual nature of dreams,

and radiance of sunrises,

allowing us to once again

see, hear, touch, smell and taste reality’s harvest,

sentient man’s nurturing of perpetuity’s maze…

forever.