A Fast-freeze Free-fall... to The meaning of it All

What is this thing that steals across the day

With ether slightness none can comprehend

Yet tips the scales of youth to middle age

And grip us with beginnings naught can end?

It rushes where the blush of dreams applaud

But none can feel the torrent of its might

…and in the quelling of its appetite

It melts the veil that wafts twixt man and God

No scalpel can its medium dissect

Nor one speck of spent quantum resurrect

The wink of them turns hours into years

 And flowers into fragments on the brook

As through our clasp its essence disappears

Refurbished with the very thing it took

It fills dawn’s cup with dusk and dusk with dawn

It rends the heart but not the air life breathes

Its all-encompassing free-fall bequeaths

A silent storm of season-succored seas

In half-breath breadth it freezes centuries

What is this thing that leads, not to the end

But to the Great Beginning of it all?

It lilts in microscopic dividend

To that last eon unfathomable

…ten-thousand skies a drop within its girth

What is this thing that stuns imagery

 And whisper-washes ages from the earth

In tiny tick-tock metered symmetry

Ah, momentum of moments; soft you fall

Leading us to the Meaning of it all

© Janet Martin