What is Forever

I am playing around with the Visual Poetry using video, text, and photography. This one is really seriously in "the works" and still being edited because I am not quite happy with all my photos.



This video was inspired by one of my poems:

Time is Forever's Sepulchre

Time is Forever's Sepulchre
Everything is muted and doesn't seem as it was.
Every hour is so very different, than
the one that's long spent and past.
I am so easily misunderstood,
even by those who know me best, even by myself.
I ask too many questions that cannot be answered.
Simply because the ones that can be, bore me.


We begin as a grain of sand in an oyster.
Years go by, each stirring patterns
a layer around the crude partical of sand
More years go by, experience gained,
a measurement of time lived.
Making us what we are.
The envelope of time is merely our oyster shell.
Time plans our hours, days, and even years.

Time has set our limitations to dying:
because we will never have all the minutes,
or live by all the moments,
because we will never have all the time.

I know the world is rushing by me.
Everyone is scurrying like mice in a cat's cage,
trying to beat every minute by seconds.
I can't keep up, I can't breathe,
and I have no more secrets to hide.
The quicksilver web of time
runs brilliantly through my open fingers.
Metallic drops of rolling light
coming together, becoming a glimmering coat upon
transparent ordinary hours.


I continue contemplating time.
I can only guess that time is the measurement
of waves of motion.
Like hands revolving around an infinite galaxy ocean.
Time sets our thoughts a drift.
Time reminds us we are human.
It reminds us we are mortal.
But if time is the oyster shell,
then shouldn't the pearl be the soul?
If souls never die are we truly mortal?

Thoughts are a lot like time,
both roam like the sea.
I understand drifting and dreaming to be the same thing.
But please don't ask me why.
Because I won't ever know.
Contemplate it yourself.
Gifted are those blessed with thought,
and those capable of thinking.

Time often makes me feel
as though I am the elegy the poet left unfinished
Sometimes I wonder where I've been
and where I want to go.
I lie awake and think, think, think,
but I never seem to know.

My autonomic soul
resides within a revolving clock.
Around and around it goes,
Tick-tock-Tick-tock,
where will it stop?
Even I don't know.
A soul is but a transmutation of Primal Fire
molded from an experience developed
by an ever ticking time.

If time is an endless measure,
what then is forever?
It must be faceless and free.
It must be a great nothing and a great everything-altogether.
No edges. Forever is like no other thing

Yet still I contemplate....
meditating and reliving
that very hour, that very eve
When I first recognized that I would never
be able to ever figure it all out.
I think about many things always.
If there be such a thing as soul,
then truly we are not born without an end.
Infinitely we continue.

On and on.
Endlessly.
This life to the next.
If this is not the case
I shed tears for those who do waste
such precious years.

Time
We cannot best its relentless force.
For seconds, then hours,
then days, and years
they all seem to blend.
Time just like the sea,
will forever be
a virgin to the frustrations of captivity.

Time is forever's sepulchre.