Wednesday, January 9, 2013

Poem, Macrocosm, Eve Featherstone

When striving competing or wishing for more
When driving and thinking or going to stores
When stopping to see just what is in between
When shedding your skin as a means to then wean
One slips in the linkage of hours and days
One slips in the lineup of black white and grays
One slips in the memories
One slips in the time
One slips in remembrances even in prime
Is time and cash valueless?
Is death just a saint?
Is happiness right here?
Is wisdom just fate?
Awake to find butterflies and senseless small gifts
Awake to find archives of familiar rifts
Awake to find patterns and cyclical tides
Awake to find simple games rhythm and rhyme
Awake to find bubbling creation inside

mac·ro·cosm /ˈmakrəˌkäzəm/
Noun: The universe; the cosmos.
The whole of a complex structure, esp. as represented or epitomized in a small part of itself (a microcosm).

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