Hawkman
07-27-2011, 05:19 AM
Memory, that ebb-tide of the present,
laps gently at the shoreline,
its waves calmed by entropy.
Strange, no matter how bad the weather
of the past, its storms and gales
reduced to just a breath of recollection,
barely move the weathervanes of mood.
Step into the water of that shallow sea
and paddle, you may float a while
if you choose, never out of your depth –
until you drown.
Where are the life-guards when you need them;
the fluttering red beach flags
that say it isn’t safe to forsake land?
Just an empty stretch of sand
between a finite future and the endless past,
and you, alone, poised on Ockham’s razorblade.
laps gently at the shoreline,
its waves calmed by entropy.
Strange, no matter how bad the weather
of the past, its storms and gales
reduced to just a breath of recollection,
barely move the weathervanes of mood.
Step into the water of that shallow sea
and paddle, you may float a while
if you choose, never out of your depth –
until you drown.
Where are the life-guards when you need them;
the fluttering red beach flags
that say it isn’t safe to forsake land?
Just an empty stretch of sand
between a finite future and the endless past,
and you, alone, poised on Ockham’s razorblade.