Past // Present // Future

Each anticipated day arrives &
elides into the past,
as we wait,
           again,
but for what?

How long will it take
for the pattern to change?

When will the cycle end?

With no past the future
becomes a desert &
                  the desert grows,
surrounding us
                  with the slow
creeping
of midnight mist…

with no future
the present becomes a test

you will fail unless
                    you refuse
to fight against
the meaninglessness
& dance instead

with the absurdity

Nothing is sacred

For S

Nothing is sacred unless we make it
so why not run with me naked
through these trees that aren’t
what they seem;
    to be
        or not to be
is not a question we need to answer,
not here, not when we’re together,
where benevolent light
    guides us through the forest
        & into the clearing…

If only you could see
just how
beautiful you are right now with
the wind twisting its fingers
through your hair
    & the air
        enfolding us
            turning golden…

Nothing is sacred,
but we give the void its colours
regardless*:
no meaning
beyond this nascent second
    unfurling;
        a flower
            in the sunlight
    reaching up
        in supplication
            to the sky.

* The Myth of Sisyphus – Albert Camus