Hours Are But...
by Odin odin@aflx.com — Read all 3,869 poems by Odin odin@aflx.com
Perhaps the invention of time represents a disservice to Nature’s perfection. We are, after all, the only species that has become a slave to the clock. (Image by robgbob)
Saturday, March 15, 2014
Hours Are But…
by Odin Roark
While vacationing
I spent some sunset time
Gazing at a seagull gazing back at me
Unaware that Man feels
Seconds of internal ticking
Minutes not sure of moments forward
Existence becoming part of
Time’s incessant record keeping
Yet for some of us
Beneath the hours
Rests presence unqualified
A blank landscape of beingness
Unsullied by imposed measurement
Such simplicity
This seagull
A Jonathan-Livingston-lately
Remaining so patient
As I sail Triscuits
Down upon his tiered rooftop
A sort of many-feathered
Beachside soup kitchen
How rudimentary this creature’s time
This winged creation
Unaware of its millennia ancestry
Yet of wisdom atop its ocean history
Plumed innocence
Knowing well its life force
Is merely one of Nature’s many entertaining enlightenments
Begging notice while we count the hours
Becoming days into years
Before arguably advancing
Our rumination’s pride
Into delusional nostalgia
Sandie
budd