Stillness

Can stillness be in life,
As life hurls toward decay?
Does seed of verve proliferate,
Or shed potency,
Until we reach that day?

No feat to gaze beyond the now,
Set mind upon horizon,
Then stare back from there- not bits but whole,
Fulfilment summed today til done,
Will grandeur nought set pang to soul?

The clock never stops,
'Cept once to expire,
It ticks and tocks,
It hovers like a shadow,
Wields vezuvias' wrath,
Unchanging in direction,
It mocks resistive path;

But nothing bound in calculation,
Can turn back or bring to stop,
The hands that move upon the soul,
Despite your cry creeps furtive toll;

To indulge and forebear destiny,
Abandon humble's hedge,
Take up life of expectation,
Where no falters proffer guarantee
Just race against the mirror,
With failure cold as fodder for a torture,
By desire's misery;

The other plate is substance,
To serve instead the void,
To live lifetimes by each action,
knowing bits trump the whole,
To colour fleeting moments,
As chances to be bold;

Nothings sour about awareness,
Mortality chocolate sweet,
Limit lets you savor, and
Find stillness in your beat.

Recompense

I sense but cannot move,
Unaware but to the past,
No reign upon the now,
Might I revile a helpful smile?

We lord over the indifferent,
Efforts spring benign,
To bring ordered naturata,
Shame to naturans;

The embrace I yearn to savor,
The kiss my lips to linger,
Bound by human nature,
Humbled human creature;

The outside and the interface,
Endeavors for us all,
But inward seek few navigate,
In darkness everfall;

Mechanisms in the night,
The turn of silent gears,
Imagined strings on puppets,
We've no hands nor inner ears;

Volitions t'ward the void,
Ships lost at sea,
The answers pledge allegiance,
To silence, not to me;

Whys marry explanation,
But courtship's time unknown,
Damn this empty progress vision,
We journey without home;

Yet ambition still aligns,
Despite logic's solemn lines,
Perhaps purpose to a betterment,
Instilled in few of kind;

To those soldiers of the soul,
That brave over-nature goal,
Risking intervention's disappointment,
In battles all alone;

Walking hand in hand, touchless and unseen,
Ventures each for more than reckoning,
No one meets but each one's beckoning,
Recompense for me;

Don Quijote de la Mancha,
Fighting windmills of me,
Save action from the instant,
Gain future-in-repair,
Can I convert a shadow,
Despite late being there;

Am I a being formed,
Or born to unknown mold,
Can I sketch a new beginning,
With a story never told;

Perhaps patience is the mettle,
Condemned conscience in between,
Bear true witness to your actions as,
You cull nurture from your dream;

Hope whispers that a mountain,
its permanence might dissolve,
to not weather determination,
Til' we move it by resolve.