GOING HOME
Written & Read by Charles Bryant
The years are speeded up towards the tomb,
knowing we are going home.
Every sunrise the tick of a certain clock
every sunset another tock
minutes hours days and years.
By such a simple scenario empires rise and fall,
age passes age; and all descend
into their ending.
The years are speeded up towards the tomb,
knowing we are going home.
Distortion of both space and time,
extra-Einsteinian effect.
No sorrow in that; the way that all flesh goes,
flesh and ant and grass, all things alas;
although they triumph at the last,
escaped from this earth's gravitational pull,
the irksome weight of all things earthly.
The years are speeded up towards the tomb,
knowing we are going home.
Free now as air beyond our breath;
then the region where air itself must cease
and weightlessness increase;
where thought, we think, must finally stop with time.
And chiming rhyme be all there is to be,
a pulse; as of a star
that waits its final bursting and surcease.
The years are speeded up towards the tomb.
Finally, we are home.
Earth, and all its ages, just a dream.
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I hope this poem is not seen as morbid. To me it's just a statement of fact - and not an unpleasant fact either. Or only unpleasant (and sad) to the limited earthbound point of view. To me it speaks of hope, of renewal, of refinement, of getting back to what we always were; and to what we always are, even in the years of our life on earth. It's just that here our attention is distracted from what is real.
26 дек 2011
