Will George Poet Shades of Sorrow!

Shades of sorrow!

The twilight of existence comes into the shade of sorrow!

Shadows are only images projected onto surfaces crude and sleek.

To what will we owe the benefit of presence,

whether it be temporary and finite or permanent and infinite?

Life, that of whatever claims to be a form of reality,

flows in its own way along its own path towards what?

It is not infinite, or not that we can be assured,

it appears momentarily in a body which projects itself

upon surfaces of other bodies, themselves only momentary.

Structures decay, become immobile, mobilize and disappear;

they fall from within the scope of vision, partly seen,

partly present, but nonetheless an illusion soon gone.

People play their part in the vignette of action

that is deemed to be the fulfillment of an imaginable end,

the imagination of a beginning that is itself unbegun.

There is a pause, a second glance made consciously

by the passing mind that searches for the image

that best represents the truer reflection of what exists.

Lives are full of the animation that is best described as life!

A physical form grows to fill a pre-set void that itself

is not totally empty or unaware of the part played.

This is no stage and there is no script to be rehearsed;

the story that unfolds cannot be rerun or retold,

there are no action replays to be edited more than once.

Turmoil is the disturbance to which individual images gravitate,

pulled out of the recesses that are intended to be alive

and for which reason death cries foul at its failure.

Water assumes identity that is fluent and passive,

pausing in more than one form and having more than one existence.

It is invariably unique while it can be visible and invisible,

both parts the equal of each other in composition

only separate in nature to evolve in separate environments.

Purity can be judged, it is often, graded to a scale

of particular measurement that determines its usage,

its viability and potability for consumption by others.

It carries contaminants in excess of more beneficial

constituents that are deemed healthy and gratifying.

Water flows freely through existing channels, and where needed

creates its own path, to allow it to follow its prescribed route.

There is a great amount of power harnessed within the constraints

of simple bonds that are not evident from the dewdrops seen most often.

Are the clouds the chains designed to hold this collective will,

or are the nimbus and cumulus merely a form of flowing dress?

There are no more radiant or exuberant materials that command

attention by their mere gathering in the cool of summer or the depths

of winter, where they roam as they choose unfettered by anyone!

Beware the simplicity of the most obvious!

We can rejoice for the nourishment brought by refreshing rains,

even pillows of clear crystal snows provide an insulating blanket,

the prompt for the renewal of tired cells preparing for restoration.

New life surges upon the passing of the old, the worn or well used.

The days that pass are imbued by the activity of being

within which every life maintains a presence and is a part.

Storms are common, many are created in circumstance without malice,

the time of their existence is not restricted or encompassed by anything.

How can we determine when our twilight ceases and when will the dawn

of brilliant day take over and encompass us?

To what end will we wish to be immersed and washed in that greater power

by tides that are both gentle and the most frightening?

Souls cry out, mostly in anguish, unwilling or unable to experience the truth

of the choices made in the completion of sorry existence.

Sorrow forms like the dew in droplets that together flow to the seas and beat

upon the static shore in waves that wish to caress not erode others.

This touch somehow does not convey a sense of accomplishment!