Time’s Shutter Blade

How fragile
The skeleton of existence.

It knows no boundaries,
This ofttimes enigmatic indentation,
Venturing through the heart valves of the continuum.

Boisterous its beat,
Resonance its mission ,
Knowing only open boundaries,
Acquiescence to its long extinct option…

 stillness.

Awakening drives its form,
Arresting air,
Moisture,
Soil,
Storm,
Whether by condensation
Or mud of tearful passions unleashed,
Traces exist,
Some hardened,
Others fluid,
Vying to reveal the What of Is,
Ushering in the When of Why.

Yet …

Risking any and all,
The mind of Being knows not chance as a gamble,
It has been here before,
Will continue to be here in perpetuity.

Nature's birth happens,
Its endurance never vanishing,
Only receding,
Making room,
For tomorrow's new imprints.

So elusive is this sometimes-ethereal intercourse,
This beacon of positive form remaining tranquil
Awaiting the click of Time's shutter blade,

Knows only to allow darkness

The birth of light.