In a world where the boundaries between the tangible and the intangible often blur, A Measure of Time: The Eternal Voyage of Self emerges as a literary exploration of the profound and often elusive intersections between existence, perception, and the uncharted territories of the soul.
This collection of poetry delves into the labyrinthine corridors of the human psyche, navigating the intricate dance between time, memory, and identity. These poems are not mere reflections but rather invitations—each one a portal to a different facet of the eternal journey that we all undertake.
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In a world where the boundaries between the tangible and the intangible often blur, A Measure of Time: The Eternal Voyage of Self emerges as a literary exploration of the profound and often elusive intersections between existence, perception, and the uncharted territories of the soul.
Sample
The Liminal Space
We’re on a journey, you and I,
Where mist clings low like unsaid prayers,
And the street’s cold breath whispers alibi,
Faint against the pulse of vanishing layers.
Under sallow lanterns, we drift,
Where dusk dissolves in a sea of gray,
Tracing the edge of light’s last gift,
The boundary where shadows sway.
In the alley’s throat, where echoes fade,
And the pavement’s seam unveils its scars,
We find ourselves in twilight’s shade,
A place neither near nor far.
The fog wraps tight, a shroud of time,
Veiling all, yet leaving bare,
The liminal, the line, the climb,
The weight of what we dare not share.
Is there a name for this fragile space,
This chasm where the known unwinds?
A threshold, perhaps, where we erase,
The boundaries set by ordered minds.
Between the tick and tremor of night,
We falter, caught in a turning wheel,
Where dawn does not yet burn bright,
And truths we hold refuse to heal.
The mirror holds a shadowed face,
Not mine, nor yours, but something blurred,
A figure caught in an endless chase,
Of what is felt but never heard.
This is the pause, the still-born breath,
The moment where the world stands still,
The space between, the narrow breadth,
Of will and want, of mind and will.
The stars above, punctured dark,
Flicker faint like thoughts half-formed,
In the distance, a lone dog’s bark,
Echoes through a storm-warmed night.
Here, at the edge of what is real,
Where time unravels and dreams conspire,
We search for what we cannot feel,
For flames that flicker but do not fire.
Do you hear it? The call of the void,
The siren song of what might be,
A voice that lures yet leaves destroyed,
The fragile sense of certainty.
We walk the line, the tightrope thin,
Between the light and enveloping dark,
Where every choice is bound within,
A shadow, a whisper, a lingering spark.
Let us not rush this fleeting night,
But linger where shadows lie,
Where every truth is half in sight,
And every answer asks us why.
For here in this suspended space,
Where dawn waits just out of reach,
We find the heart of our own pace,
The silence where the soul does teach.
The door stands open, its rusted hinge,
A creak of time, a whispered plea,
Beyond it lies the shifting fringe,
Of what we are and what might be.
The fog curls in, a cloak of thought,
Enveloping all in its gray embrace,
We step not forward, but are caught,
Between the world and its hidden face.
Is there a word for this in-between,
This liminal place where we stand alone?
Where what is known is merely seen,
As a shadow cast on a stepping stone.
The night whispers secrets in its grasp,
The fog a veil obscuring truth,
We reach, we stretch, we barely clasp,
The echoes of our long-lost youth.
But still, we linger, in this breath,
This moment poised on time’s edge,
Between the life and certain death,
We weave a thought, a fleeting pledge.
The dawn will break, the night will end,
But in this space, we find our blend,
Of what was, what is, and what will be,
Suspended here in eternity.
Let us walk then, hand in hand,
Through mist that clings like memory,
Across the bridge of shifting sand,
Into dawn of what is yet to be.
For in this liminal, twilight’s grace,
We glimpse the truth in shadow’s face.
We’re on a journey, you and I,
Where the mist clings low, and dawn draws nigh.
***
Eros and Agape
I
Under twilight’s veil where shadows merge,
Eros spins on the edge of the void,
His flame a flicker in the realm’s dark surge,
Where passion’s whispers are sharply destroyed.
Yet Agape, in her unbroken light,
Glows with a radiance that outshines all,
Her presence, a beacon through endless night,
Guides where love’s fleeting shadows fall.
Eros’s murmurs traverse dim-lit lanes,
His ardor draped in transient, hollow guise,
Where fevered heat and empty promise wanes,
Dissolving like a breath beneath dawn’s rise.
Agape’s grace, though subtle, leaves its mark,
A steady current through the soul’s deep seam,
Her touch a lighthouse in the endless dark,
A quiet hymn where ephemeral shadows gleam.
II
The Questing Mind
In crumbling ruins where lost echoes fade,
The mind embarks on paths of endless night,
Seeking truth in the void’s encroaching shade,
Where dreams are forged in the crucible of light.
Thoughts rise like specters from the ancient dust,
Where meaning clings to the shards of time’s flow,
Each question a fragment of truth we trust,
In the mosaic of the soul’s deep woe.
The labyrinth bends in a cyclical grace,
Each turn a mirror to the soul’s deep strife,
Where answers flicker in the shadowed space,
Caught in the cycle of a restless life.
In this pursuit, the mind both seeks and shuns,
Lost in the dance of an ephemeral mist,
Searching for light where the twilight runs,
Where truth retreats into the foggy tryst.
III
The Inward Spiral
Descending through the self’s darkened lair,
The spiral tightens, winding through the gloom,
Revealing realms where silence breaks the snare,
And secrets merge in twilight’s shadowed bloom.
Here, echoes of forgotten selves entwine,
With every turn the soul’s deep fabric strains,
As the self confronts the void’s dark design,
Where dreams and fears are woven in the chains.
The spiral winds through dusk and dawn’s embrace,
Where time’s relentless hand reveals the thread,
A ceaseless dance where beginnings trace,
And endings in the gloom are softly spread.
In this inward quest, the truth remains a shade,
A circle of revelations cold and bright,
As the self, in stillness, is remade,
To meet the soul in the eternal night.
(In silence, what remains to yearn?
The spiral tightens, and we twist, we turn.)