Sleepy Head

Rise now,

the number of our days is upon us,

like the seismic rumble;

our world loses its certainty.

 

Those once granite pillars

that made such a sure foundation,

become like thin reeds,

reminiscent of straws and camels.

 

Suddenly,

night is upon us.

Without fair warning,

the dream succumbs to waking

and there is no turning back the clock,

no bargains to be struck,

for another hour,

another day,

another year.

 

Pink light cuts a brilliant line

across the horizon

and we know

that we will take that horizon soon.

To behold the great mystery

of the First Unknown.

To stare at the Sun

without burning the eyes.

To be unshackled from space and time

and no longer dreaming.

 

Wake to the new day dawning.

The measure of our course

is not taken by standard metrics.

Like art,

it shall never be judged

by its creator,

but instead,

remembered by those who experienced it

when it was completed.

 

Hitchhikers on a brief leg

of an eternal journey.

The value of time

is never in the counting

of the hours, days, years;

it is in the smiles,

comforts,

laughter.

It is cherished

and then we wake.

 

HG – 2016

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