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"I said at the time I wrote this, 'passing way too fast for me!'. My viewpoint hasn’t changed – if anything it continues to accelerate"     - Allen Ansell



Its measured path meanders through our lives,
and in its wake is nothing but destruction …
and pain … and all the woes of wise men … all the
heartache of mothers … and all the wizened artifacts
once proudly displayed, are now laid bare to it.

The seagull’s cry, raucous and extreme,
echoes across the deserted sandy scene
and save for the lapping waves is all that’s heard.
Water retreating from muddy smothered soil,
offers no harbour for a Dove … this revolution.

Rounded rocks … ground to infinite dust,
beneath skies of measureless dimension …
compute its passage in some algorithmic way.
And in the frozen depths of places yet unseen
are rainbows of its anticipated degradation.

When we are beyond its uncelestial grasp …
we’re borne as dandelion seeds on air,
uncontrolled by its cold, embittered hands …
and have at last the measure of it;
are ourselves unlimited and never ending …

… but time awaits us still.




© Allen Ansell 2023