Time

I stepped out of the past and into the present

everything old
worn
beaten
aged

I looked around at what my fathers left me
so long ago
so very long ago

and all I saw
was what had been
and what could be
but not what was
nor what will be

I ached for what was
not yet ready to part
yet already parted

blinded by tears
I looked, but only felt

they were gone
but they gave me something
something small to remember them by

an egg

a promise

clay for molding

a future for shaping

only without their hands to help.

the clay sat and dried
the stone sat uncarved
the endless potentiality of the universe irrevocably unrealized moment by moment
fading into echoes

fading back into an egg

a future promise

unshaped clay

raw stone

fallow

with no hands to shape it
with no intent to wreak beauty

only a suspended moment
a meeting of times

a cloying bear hug of that which was gone
a rending wail of parting too soon
a loss of a compass

a field of old stones
fallen
rotting
returning
going
drawn inexorably on
away
into the past

gone

lessons hardly learned
shapes hardly seen
places hardly visited
minds hardly known
hearts hardly mended

I hardly knew myself.
how to know those gone?
the echoes fade
the ashes crumble
the dust blows

what of this egg?
this fallow field?
this aging clay?
this uncut stone?

my past is gone

but the present bears a mark
a blessing
a sign
many signs
many blessings
many marks

shunned too long
known too little

perhaps a seed may be planted
perhaps a step can be taken

the future holds horrors
the future holds wonders

I tell myself
to sleep at night

in the morning
in the sun-drenched fallow field

I freeze

again

untold wonders just out of reach
both ahead and behind

but just a fallow field in front of me

no helping hands to light the way
no sagely voice to soothe
to prune the unfathomable plenipotentiality
that is
and isn't
their gift
their burden

lifting my foot to take a step
I freeze
I cannot see
I cannot find the silver thread
leading to tomorrow

so I put my foot back
and let another day
slide into the soil
into the past
away from the future
unrealized
untrammeled
untouched
no more beauteous than before
no more regal than a fallow field
no more accepted than an uncut stone

and thus my gift is not a gift
but a paralysis
a boon of ill effect

a priceless wonder

a derelict

why shrink from the step?
why cling to the potential?
why not trammel the future in pursuit of a sublime past?
why not cast aside the endowment of antiquity
to forge a path of sublime wonder?

it won't be sublime
it will be mundane

and then
all is lost
all is wasted

the field fades away
empty
unused
trammeled
poisonedcluttered
spent

even an egg from which
would be a burden
a broken tangle of girders
unfit to bury a seed in
a choking death of futures

I have freakin' high expectations here, man!
Don't lose your parents' legacy; rather, honor and magnify it! Make something of it!
Don't just spend the nest egg, do something honorable with it! Make something of it!
But the task feels big enough to swallow me whole, to remain undone after spending my life on it.
I am daunted by what I see as the scale and breadth and size of it.
Oh, and don't just have a life, do something of your own! Do better than your forebears! Make something of it! (THE ANCESTORS DEMAND IT --ed.)

but what of my pain?
what of the fading echoes?
the convulsive clinging to lives long lost?

the deciduous future
must be decided
every day
every moment

but who am I to aspire to beauty greater than the subtle grace of a fallow field?

I stand no chance

the energy of the plenipotency beckons
but
I sit down
I bury my hands
and cry
at the futures I will not make

could the hands help prune
it would be their future

not mine

they are not here

from the past they bid me forward

it will not be one future
it will be many that I make
each better than the last
each more finished
each more seasoned

so when another finds this field

maybe the gnarled girders
and fallen ferroconcrete
can be their aged stones
and point them to what can be
and not what was
and what was not

instead of poison
and choking

when I find the silver thread again
I will pull

but if I cling
it will end me

so when it ends
and end it must

I must find another