Poetry Highlight: Shelley on the present moment and our finite lives

Talk no more

Of thee and me, the future and the past..

Earth and Ocean, Space, and the isles of life or light that gem

The sapphire floods of interstellar air,

This firmament pavilioned upon chaos..

This whole, Of suns and worlds, and men and beasts, and flowers

With all the violent and tempestuous workings

By which they have been, are, or cease to be, 

Is but a vision: all that it inherits are motes of a sick eye,

Bubbles and dreams; thought is its cradle and its grave, nor less

the future and the past are idle shadows

Of thoughts eternal flight, they have no being. 

Nought is but that it feels to be. 



Wonder struck

I am wonder struck

To feel the hand of Luck in a universe of misfortune

To be born in a time and space

free of war and and pain

subject only to the hurt that I bring upon myself

through misdeed and foolish choice

I am wonder struck

filled to the brim with liquid gold

The tree of eternity

strumming fates chords

holds me cradled within the shelter

of  flower bloomed arms

gazing out through leaf shaped eyes

that have seen the infinite

and I

I am nothing but wonder struck

to be witness to lifes glory

nothing but a witness

simply existing

in this time and space

brought to my knees


at the beauty of it all