Instants of Presence
what of me?
this whirlwind smeared across time
falling and churning
instants strung together
futures approaching
never appearing
before disintegrating into pasts
and finally dying --
the whirlwind spent.
and what of the Creature that is All?
the great One that doesn’t Be-come.
i pity It.
It that can only Be.
Copyright © Sam Toil | Year Posted 2014
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