Always

Sunrise and the World rolls on. Always. It needs no direction to know where it’s going. It just does. And is. And for the most part, at least for now, will be. It’s not like us. Its Always is not the same as ours. We neither roll, nor follow. We just fall and rise. And we seek a direction. Always. For the World there is one path. Played out in the prophecies of mechanics and maths. For the World what will be will be. Just so, Always. Every particle has its place. Random maybe, But predetermined, Always. But we can’t do that. We forge out our own paths, Through fire and light, Storm and darkness. We cut directions freely, Unbounded. Always. We are too small, too dust-like, For universal prophecies. We are random. Of course we are. Don’t we have to be? Always. So the world rolls, And we toil upon its back, Seeking a direction that did not choose us, Paths that may not fit. We listen to our hearts, And to the wind, And to our itching feet, And Always. For we are something more than whatever destiny diminishes, We are. And we shine for it. We do not cut through space knowingly, We create space blindly, And that is beautiful. Always. Because for us, nothing is certain, Nothing is done, So anything can be. We are and we will be and we have been all at once. We carry our hearts as a testimony to history, Our ambitions as lanterns for the future, We live extraordinary lives, In perfect asynchrony with our mechanical world. Always. Sunrise and the world rolls on, Stomping along to the beat of time, But fortune waits where dreamers dare to go, Those with feet that tickle and nag, Those with a greater path than most, Those who know that Always belongs to them alone, Not to the universe. Etched out in burning hearts, And eager souls. The world knows nothing of our Always, How can it when it’s destined only to roll? Always is but a state of mind, A freedom, A choice, An uncertain path, And it’s ours to harness, To enjoy, To grasp, Always.