Like footprints in wet soil, the markings linger

their permanence dependent upon the tracks left

hardening as time moves forward

They show the paths taken, each motion the labour of countless days

confined to mere inches in space

constrained to etches on weary wood


carved across my desk

Truths cutting through a glossy surface reality

echoes tied to a stained surface

a static past

tethered to an ever moving future

like shadow figures dancing on a darkened wall

outlined in the negative

as idle hands explore and reach

as idle minds explain and teach concepts

instead of searching fulfillment  out

distractions make false impressions

Remnants of divine purpose imprinted


the exposure beneath the motions

Heartfelt wood carved by hardened loss

an absence extended

by its existence

an overt redundancy


27 July 2013

1:46 am


The endless cycle of idea and action,

Endless invention, endless experiment,

Brings knowledge of motion, but not of stillness

Knowledge of speech, but not of silence—T.S. Eliot, Choruses from “The Rock”