Saturday, April 17, 2010

Space

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Space

Sets a pace,
To stop the pacing and racing.
It’s a gift
Of time,
Honored entirely as mine.
Intervals
Are for pausing,
Not effecting and causing.
Pattern
in rhythm,
is music, and not random.
Space
Defines the place
Where time becomes a line.
Listening
To the now,
Not the when, or the how.
Silence
Miles apart,
Calms and slows the heart.
Nothingness
Isn’t loss,
For it has no cost.
Encompass
The Celestial All,
Matter is finitely small.
Alone
Without the other,
Rarefies our time together.

5 comments:

  1. nice. this has a great flow to it dianne...the last stanza got to me...having worked out of town away from my fam, when i did...

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  3. the composition is just so incredible here - did you say something about the little details which make photos special? i think you did a great job here...

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  4. Wonderful, excellent text and poem.

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