Magical Moments Are Born in Darkness


All magical moments are born in utter darkness.
And the painful truth is that each moment of our lives
Is the fruit of, not decades, but fifty thousand years
And more beyond our counting….
Thousands of generations of those born naked,
Into darkness they came and into darkness
They now lie as dust carried by winds of Time.

If we could pause Time itself, return
Perhaps for an hour or years,
We’d see displays of love in ancient Egypt,
Bloom as flowers upon the dessert sands,
Not unlike love blossoming in Georgia only yesterday.
Do not palm branches bend to every wind?
Does not each generation think themselves
Living at the apex of all humanity?

What man has not raised children
Without bearing harsh and honest tongue—
Wife and mother sleeping beside him in bed,
Exhausted at end of day, quiet breathing, praying,
Hopeful for night of sleep to come—
Perchance strange dreams that travel lightly in the mind,
Easily forgotten in hunger of rising Sun.

Who is to say whether a day or year is spent
In desire or waste, or whether empty spaces
Become the necessary loss where new seeds grow,
Sprout in cold of winter or heat of summer’s green?
What platform can we build to judge our lives or
Take another to task without mercy?

I ponder my inheritance,
Given on that day when I was conceived—
High odds that what will eventually kill me
Was put in place that very hour within the DNA.
My birthright and bequest was both blessing and curse,
Transmission of the highest, smallest order,
Unknown even now, yet owned as blind heritage.

One day I will feel the underbrush give way,
Slide down into darkened cave
Where every breath will be amazing experience—
Like love, birth and crying in delivery room.
There is no escaping human nature, surely
Our parents taught us that much….
We live inside an unknown order,
And the history of our times is but another shadow.


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