But even Dali found a way
To manipulate time:
He captured melting clocks
And their faces–
Stressed and defaced with lies.
Now, still-framed and forever safe:
“The Ever Changing!”
He has contained!
He now manipulates!
(His weapon: The Imagination)
The canvas of mind?
Within his hands,
He was soon to find;
But such Beauty is not measured
In minutes or seconds!
But within the Heartbeat of The Eye…
…Within the Still-Life Script,
And the beauty
Of A Language,
Cryptic and untouched by Time…
A Language (which colors Itself)
Is Illustrated by: Meaning and Depth;
Is Brightened by: Metaphor’s Melodic Harmony;
Is Shaded by: Irony in the Nights Not slept.
And I apologize
Ahead of time
If my Conscience is found:
(Drowning, Sinking, Swimming, or Diving)
Within Shallow, False Truths…
But that which is Unconditional
I found Immeasurable!
(Even Its Finite number of Lifetimes)
For The Existence of Time:
So As soon as We Find
We’ve misplaced It,
For Its existence
We could no longer grasp,
(Embrace The Darkness,
Cherish The Light,
And The Inbetween: Acknowledge It.)
The Colours of Our Tongues—now Infinite,
Infiltrate An Ego Surpassed.
And Within Time’s Tactile Misplacement,
It’s Terror and Tyranny: Unmasked,
That which is not The Black or The White–
But The Individuals Between them—
Form the common borders
Of Such Great Contrast.
These Infinite Grays feed
The Black to The White,
As The Secondary circulates
(Orange leads The Red to The Yellow;
Green leads The Yellow to The Blue)
In the Absence of Time,
I will search within Hindsight;
Retrace this trajectory
As Time’s inquisitive sleuth.