What is that thing, that friend, that foe?
We can be on it, behind it and ahead of it.
We can be in it, or we can be out of it.
Sometimes we race against it,
or while it away,
waste it, kill it,
use it, spend it,
save it, or buy it.
It is a gift:
We can take it, or give it.
It comes. It goes.
It can be our prison. It can be our master.
It lets things grow. It lets things decay.
It does not change us—
but simply, unfolds, us.
It deserts us in glory,
but without it, a heart does not beat.
It is always there for us when we’re in pain,
letting us bathe in our agony.
But, it also lets us heal, and lets us forget.
We can’t see it. We can’t hear it.
And, no, we can’t eat it,
even if it sounds like we could.
We perceive it.
It is a dimension.
It came out of nothing,
and will leave when there is nothing left.
It reveals everything.
It is the space between the notes,
the canvas of the painting of music,
of seasons, of night and of day.
It only goes in one direction,
and it never goes back.
Copyright © Quirina Roode-Gutzmer 2012.
All rights reserved.
This poem is linked to dVersepoets Open Link Night, Week 37.
DVerse Poets Pub is a place where poets and writers gather to celebrate poetry.