The clock stops and round about where midnight should be the world wakes up. No one feels the pressure of the second hand on its circutous, foot-dragging path to eschaton. The minutes, hours, days, cycles of the tides, rotation of Jupiter and its moons about the sun - all have ceased in their importance. As it stands, the facts are thus: things of this nature grinding to a halt are not important. Not even on a universal scale is the forgoing and forgetting of clocks and the blessed moments they strip away anything above the trivial.
Abolish the crime that began with the sundial. This beast you all profess to not have enough of is shallow. Its tongue and motives fork like the divergent paths you cannot take because you chose the one paved for your conveince. Even those that take the overgrown, dimly-remembered ways will complain about how this beast born of moments and gears will slip away from them. How they did not take care of it, water or feed it, and how there is never enough of the creature. It is not a pet, or series of pets. It exists as a free being, unchain it from the softly ticking hands and let it be. Forget that you owned it (though, in all actuality, it was the other way around) and how much you relied on it. Stand ten paces back, do not say goodbye and walk away.
Only a handful have been able to set their affairs regarding this monster right. The rest of us are guilty of turning this chimera into a scape goat, of abusing it in the prison that we created for ourselves. Thus, we are all beasts; no better than the one we enslaved and multiplied and spread to all corners of our reality. It is but a blanket we have thrown over the chains, and if your hands can but blindly search underneath you will find the keys and the locks. And with forced courage, you may open them and stretch your limbs under the sun. Each opened manacle helps to ease of the ticking chains. Listen for the day when silence itself reigns over the indignant sputter of cogs and hands.
and when last
that day does arrive
greet your heart,
kiss the lingering drops of wine
and dance
for the night is silent
and nothing is fleeting
Abolish the crime that began with the sundial. This beast you all profess to not have enough of is shallow. Its tongue and motives fork like the divergent paths you cannot take because you chose the one paved for your conveince. Even those that take the overgrown, dimly-remembered ways will complain about how this beast born of moments and gears will slip away from them. How they did not take care of it, water or feed it, and how there is never enough of the creature. It is not a pet, or series of pets. It exists as a free being, unchain it from the softly ticking hands and let it be. Forget that you owned it (though, in all actuality, it was the other way around) and how much you relied on it. Stand ten paces back, do not say goodbye and walk away.
Only a handful have been able to set their affairs regarding this monster right. The rest of us are guilty of turning this chimera into a scape goat, of abusing it in the prison that we created for ourselves. Thus, we are all beasts; no better than the one we enslaved and multiplied and spread to all corners of our reality. It is but a blanket we have thrown over the chains, and if your hands can but blindly search underneath you will find the keys and the locks. And with forced courage, you may open them and stretch your limbs under the sun. Each opened manacle helps to ease of the ticking chains. Listen for the day when silence itself reigns over the indignant sputter of cogs and hands.
and when last
that day does arrive
greet your heart,
kiss the lingering drops of wine
and dance
for the night is silent
and nothing is fleeting