Trifecta

The cauldrons bubble over

When I think  I’ve got it just at smoldering temperature

The tiny objects that we seek that mean things to us in our lives

Seem to define where we stand with ourselves

Our lives.

And are attested to express what kind of people we are

What kind of people we should be and become

It expresses a lot of ‘Whats’ but not ‘whys’

And im too fucking impatient to waste my time with things that are so remarkably pointless.

The way that things should mean things to people

The don’t ever seem to realize:

Your wow factor has a way of making all of us small

And there is a path through the aether that will force us to lean back

There is a way of modifying probability

There is a way through the dark by taking a step back

There is a way into the dark

Our hands give way to our dreams

Our hearts give way to our mind

And yet, it is not all of our players

And more and more we seek some sort of atonement for things that we had no part in

As though we’re guiltable animals

And owe our masters a great debit that can never be repaid because of its impossibly benevolent nature that we can’t possibly fathom due to our own personal level of self-inflicted smallness

it’s so painfully obvious to those that can see

time is far more precious than you possibly realize, and yet it is somehow also infinite and abstract

it is all things

for my part I find that it is a crusing pace

dialed in; I think your center is like some snowball crushed into perfection

some resonating conviction pressed into  steel and stone and flesh

that grows like a tree through our understanding of the internal

and external worlds

and I am driven to it out of some kind of strange charity

it brings with it adventures

there is a kind of human delight

in seeing

and being seen.