Before the End of Time

                                         Final Frontier ~ Philip Brent Harris


O, to imagine my words, my art might last
Across the days, the years, the time to come,
After I have gone
Behind the curtain of future vision.
I, to be merely in the wings
And watch the players enliven my thoughts,
Explain the meaning of my words,
Daubs and strokes of painted memory
Reflecting a single moment
I would capture their interpretation,
Confusion, misunderstandings,
Insights I had not considered,
But must have known.

Could I have known what I did not,
Even if I had known it yesterday,
Will know it tomorrow?

Who would know who I might now know or reach,
Who might, in time, be tied to me?
Cross-referential, reverential, if wrong,
Or if correct, imputing constructed meaning.
Creating sense, which may be true,
But never my intention.

Yet, what does intention matter,
If I or any should withstand the test of time,
A specter of prior days,
Haunting or forgotten, present?
In a space no longer occupied by living flesh,
Not gone, but not regarded,
Lying in wait for an unexpected, unsuspecting traveler,
A romantic fool,
A lonely man women or child,
Seeking solace where none has been found.

Will I know what I did,
Even if I did not know yesterday,
Will not know tomorrow?

Could I but lead the way for one person,
Out of darkness and into light,
Which they will reflect so others may see.
As if to see sunlight as moonlight,
Providing translation, explication, interpretation.
Someone who may lead others to a path,
I thought lost, forgotten, grown thick with weeds,
Burrs and hazards, wild and unknown, unseen,
Until uncovered by an intrepid explorer,
Person as Rosetta stone, transformed,
Cleaned, polished, a lexicon of my unnamed presentation.
Not to confuse, imbue myself with greatness,
Yearning only for a language key,
A decoder ring,
To allow any who care to hear
My voice, see my vision
The reason I live in this here, this now,
To become aware that though
I may not find it, how
I yearned to know the path
Into my own mystery.

To be Will, Artimesia, Johannes, Georgia, Vincent, Frieda,
Or any that may come to mind or come in time,
Not, at least now, for fame, glory,
Seeking only to find such transcendent
Truth, understanding, though mortal flesh.
I may have but this one moment,
This life as all,
No god, no heaven, no hell, no future.

Then, does this not mean the world will end
When I close my eyes, my being send
Into the unknown, uncharted land
Beyond time and place, but still to stand?

I elect to be the player,
Who plays every part in evert play.
Not from hubris, but from honest belief
We are all one and all each other
With no other place
Behind our eyes, beneath our skin
Branded esoteric, strange, still real.
To be the beggar and the best,
Brought to our knees, raised on high,
Yet refuse to claim
Our joined humanity, universality.
Whether we do not accept, believe
We would ever wear another’s name, face, skin
The burden of their existence
As easily as our own.

The best and brightest may kill themselves,
Or be sacrificed on the pyres of greed, terror, war,
The hollow hunger of famine, deprivation, disease,
Staccato rhythm of the storm
The smothering silence of ice and snow.

We all will wear the hair shirt,
The emperor’s crown,
Never understanding each of us
Bears a burden of our own
Which all will feel and comprehend
Before the end of time.
We will be lost, and we will be found,
A baby in a basket,
A body in the river,
A swimmer or a victim,
Finding ourselves winners and goats.

We will live in the heart of blazing stars
And as the nuclei of atoms
Around which others bodies spin

This sounds much simpler,
Yet more difficult to apprehend,
To say that we are all
And all is us.
Saying this, not as grand pronouncement
But the truth we inhabit and express.
Love, which holds together creation entire
Seen in the incandescent birth of stars, galaxies
Manifest in the quickening of any life, every moment.
Hidden within the withering cold void
The all-pervasive three-degree background radiation,
Yet alive, still, sentient, encompassing,
All connected, though witnessed, exhibited
In parts, parceled out across space,
Across the days, the years, all the time
Which has ever been or will ever be.

Peace is Purpose, Nonviolence is Strength,  Diversity is Unity, Empathy is Empowerment

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See more of my creative offerings and opinions at:

Brent Harris Fine Art

Philip Brent Digital Art

Vida Voices

Scriggler TPM

The Extra Mile
Art, shirts and other gift items





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