Ξ Ξ Ξ
There is a quiet stillness here
Born of Sun, Rain, Trees, Grass, and Silence
With the slight breeze snatching away
Such ennui as might engender sleep
As this aged man sits upon a wooden bench
Perched upon an English garden.
Beyond: other worlds within this world
Where machinations abound
Born as they are, have been, will be
From such denotata as seem to meld so many others
Presenced for such decades as fade so quickly away
While one World still circles one Sun among the billions.
No one of consequence, sitting, resting, trying not to fall asleep
Here:
One fleeting, temporal, emanation of Life
Among so many
As that insect, settling on that brightly coloured flower,
Seeks to gather such nectar as may keep its life alive
While this perhaps more frequent cycle of a heatful Summer dryness
Lasts
Born as it might be from our human hubris.
DW Myatt
JD 2461236.992
Ξ Ξ Ξ
David Myatt 