THIS NIGHT

This night;

this

deep,

still,

dark

ocean

of a night;

This endless repository of

memory and dream

calls out to me…

screams

to me

with a vengeance

to remember.

 

I pretend to hear...

pretend to listen...

pretend to know.

 

But what do I know?

 

I know nothing,

I know only

this life.

 

All I can hear is

the voice of its existence…

 

the incessant pounding of its single heart

 

the persistent rhythm of its sequential breath

that keeps it all alive.

 

And then…

then  

I remember

the one salient point of it all:

 

Even this shall pass.

© p.donovan