Treasure Island

Frank James Ryan Jr...FjR

(A Collection of Select Works... / The City That Never Sleeps)

Searching For Stonehenge & Paradise {Revision}

Time will not deign requests,
least of all... answer threats;
hand's methodic, indifferent,
perpetually...... insistant,
to the impendings, portendings-
the ultimate endings,
we incur on ourselves,
tossed to back shelves,
sins we have laid,
Free Will's sad parade.

And perhaps it's not fair -
Time carries its air
with obstinate stare,
should ever you dare
to challenge Times hand
as its glass drops the sand
by Destiny's power
dictating 'The Hour'
that be our last.

You must be agnostic,
or a Doctor of Space
who purges prognostics,
out the sides of your face -
to take on this question
of Time, Life and Lesson,
rebuke Heaven's Gate,
from logics queer bait
that bookmarks your your guile;
look at Abaddon smile.

Still we're searching, searching,
where great men laid their claims
'til Time syncronates
with Destiny's date.
Poor us.....and in fact-
damn Us and our acts
that Time won't take back.

What to do, my friend?
Is there Time to repent?
Perhaps time we search
for some grail of re-birth,
some renewed ambience...

For the God-Gifts we take
for granted each day,
and rarely embrace,
'til Time drops its hands
of age on our shoulders.

Time never veers, never lies,
it be the one element of Life
that always moves on and forward,
non-negotiable, relentless and stalwart,
and through our memories, cherished in kind
Time allows us to kindle our minds
to the many events and stories
of our youth, friends, love and glory;
of ships we once sailed o'er riptides,
storms we met head-on, caps of white,
on course by the nautical hands of a clock,
yet, with God-safe return on back to dock
from whence it all did start-
still we search for who we are.

Quite silent be this dock
still the hands of Life's terminal clock -
methodic, indifferent,
perpetually insistant.
Be us death-webbed and caught
on a string two prayers short,
so long as we're not,

Searching for nothing, nowhere,
I am fretingly searching, and-
where be Peters Rock?
'Neath Stonehenge, o'er Paradise?
Beside a thick, tattered rope
used to crucify him
on an upside-down Cross?

Eye's'll see, -
of course he'll be
waiting on your ticket
to Paradise.

©Frank J. Ryan, Jr.>2013

Submitted: Wednesday, July 10, 2013
Edited: Wednesday, July 10, 2013

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