ripples
Distorting time on a dingy of obscurity,
jaded perceptions of the simple purity,
short ripples crash like a tidal wave,
marks a moment as a shallow grave.
Clouds dash as ink blot morse codes,
to where the hidden mind abodes,
adrift and without an anchor to fall,
marks the heavens as a star laced wall.
Once a boats sail was an act of the one,
then came explosive powders and the gun,
finally with reason we iconed evolution,
and the apocoylpse a side effect of pollution.
While in the city-guided by laws and by reason,
science turns stone and measures the season,
out in the sea from horizon to coast line,
a place of dreams, hypothesis-and divine.
A torrential rain of idea a thousand years ago,
today the same would barely cause a wind to blow,
what once was given to some God’s quake,
is now granted truth when continental shelfs collide-and break.
What once was important becomes lost in the new,
many were concerned-but now there are few,
time grants new insight-or relativistic illusion,
that which is important today-may soon be labeled delusion.
Moments are called that only at the end,
a climax to a story and history on the mend,
minor ripples float unable to detect,
till we choose to or are forced to reflect.
