I never write of what I don’t experience first -hand

living on such barren land… there is often not much to write about 

                                                                    of what happens   W i t h o u t . 

But   W i t h i n …. 

It all tumbles and rolls as the imagined Hell’s Bell tolls

(In)to the Vortex of the Force that pierces deep 

        and       u     n     f       o        l         d           s

                            the wrinkled soul-parchment.

W i t h i n , 

I have imagined eons beyond conscious reckoning….

They beckon

All that ever considered itself a “me”

That lies within me

To alien red desert dust. 

 

W i t h o u t ....

I see the patterns of repetition and they wear my patience thin

I drown it within - I drown it within…

But I cannot care for contemporary cares and worries 

As much as those attached to the side of Time

Half-absorbed is Half-Formed

But a whole Universe can lie behind one Being

And a whole Being can hide behind that mirror

                   

You and I hold dear

                         for it makes us feel real 

                              to the presuming eyes of others

                                        we imagine we can relate to 

                                               in our constricting human-ness. 

 

But beyond this…

Beyond its needy frantic reach 

The eons upon eons of space stretch outward

Where all the tiny human soul-clusters,

                                             bind to form the tentacled

                                                                                            l

                                                                                                 i

                                                                                                    m

                                                                                                          b

                                                                                                               s

 of the Great Organism...

…The moment comes when even That, tires of its own repeating cycles

And stretching its tentacles over one last time

Calls out

to the One and Only, that remains standing 

                                                 offering peace to the Others

                                                                     knowing full well, 

                                                                                there will be none left 

                                                                                                      for   S e l f . 

© Alice Karveli 2019

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