What Time? What Hope?

Perception ~ Philip Brent

Perception ~ Philip Brent

Being greedy
In small steps
Grabbing what
What you want
As though
It’s yours
By right
Or rite
Casting bones
Waving feathers
Odds and ends
Imbued with power
At midnight
Any hour
Darkness hides
Our fright
Our trepidation
Nervous laughter

Hoping, hoping
Longing to know
The secret
Wrest the prize
The surprise
You know
Has been hidden
From you
Fiery dawn
Moonlit stroll
Menhirs, monoliths
Arcane ages past
Revealed, laid bare
To you, for you
At last

Rain and tides
Time’s river quickens
Blood flows red
Flight or fright
Dragged along
Raging rapids
Into the whirlpool
Torn, tattered
Grasping at threads
Slim chances
Weaving madly
Muses and Fates
Altered states
Warp and weft
Grow before us
Unravel behind
Meaningless clues
Tears and years
Lean times
Peace and plenty

What would we pay
To possess
That which
Is already ours
Sea and stars
Clouds, mountains
Trees, grass, worms
Each, in its day
In its season
No rhyme, no reason
Merely pieces
Ingredients melded
To conceive us
Our domain
Hurled through space
Life’s confection
Savory morsel
We would
Some way ensorcel

We would have
And hold, grasp
Consume with gusto
Rife, robusto
And yet we
Self-appointed chefs
Have stinted

Eaten the butter
The meat
Key ingredients
Without which
It’s dumpster fodder
Taste fouled
Empty calories
Missing erg
Countryside, bergs

Falling flat
Upon our faces
Without race, races
Life polluted, stained
Strife and strain
Pillage and rape
Mayhem, murder
Ransacking our home
Assassinating ourselves
Are we
Without choice
Toss of the dice
Raise your voice
Drown the drum’s
Rat-a-tat
The trumpet’s
Harsh clarion call
To war, to hate
Can we
Save ourselves
Or has
It become too late
Have we become
Simply late?

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