See_The Life, Take Time Out, Add A Dash For Seconds And Stir Sagaciously Poem by Jonathan ROBIN

Who would conquer Time must first vanquish temporal conquest validation as voice for choice within a finite context corresponds to perpetual paradox, mad recipe sought by sine qua non sanity. To gain time seems sane, yet what dreams deign weight time against the proverbial feather awaiting Osiris' judgement before being devoured by Amemet?

Sleeper seeks awakening, taking time out for its own sake. Chronological water shed logical as seconds fed from and fled from Chronos' legendary meal. Thus though acts seem stirring to question actions becomes in itself the froth of futility, the equivalent of cook spoiling broth.

So[u]lution sought by fraught thought waves washing against unsure existential shorelines seeking - thus missing - their essential essence as there sense wavers then waves away intuition's spontaneous fruition favoring creativity.

Mind's inner recesses, fertile kernel where creativity restlessly and relentlessly anticipates release, burst into nut gut activity as spirit awaits inspiration to send sap soaring, outpouring from core ring at all levels. Tendrils tentatively touch, tenderly tease to deracinate, sensate and sate straining spirit's tortured synapses as conscience conscientiously calls all, especially the consistency of its own self-evidence, into question.

Warp and weft, bereft of references, dance double helix above, beneath, and around the sum of understanding, st[r]anding both apart from and a part of the hole that leads spirally swirling, curling and whirling the whole into and out from itself.

Truth’s essential essence reflects prismatically and chromatically upon all aspects of awareness. Soul works on Will, re[de]fining Way as harmony and chaos complete each other, cosmic and karmic interplay evolve revolving around each other.

CARPE DIEM: PRICE MADE or EPIC DREAM? ACME PRIDE or MAD RECIPE until PRIME ACED as contest_ed it end and or Death do us part.

Carpe Diem’s drumbeat fleet attracts calling when all else lacks tangible existence, consistence, sustained commitment. No need to explain, no easy recipe dissipating essential answers, no soul scaled down by feather. It is plain all’s vain, none remain immune to Time’s tune, no intelligent design, no predefined plan, may refine the baseless fabric of self-tortured imaginations, save flailing, failing, falling, wholesale soul shortsale.

A sail, [b]rave paling, ailing, craving recognition from the dead sea mirror reflection of man’s insolent anonymity, not a pretty picture.

The world is both perpetual midwife to its own rebirth and sexton sextant to its interminate interment internment.

See lost, soul-searching, generations asea, spreadeagled across life’s down filled pillows. Dissarray surfs the billows, while sheet lightning offers offers an appropriate backdropp for the final act as bellows roar and smoke stacks pour before that final belch relieves them of motion, commotion, and an ocean of sensations most appreciated when most lacking or perceived to be needed as backing for stacking cards against the hand of fate - whose instead-fast finger beckon-beacons destiny with uncomfortably imperative urgency.

Down to Earth, with a new world’s birth pangs ever in flux beneath mental horizons of tomorrow’s and tomorrow’s and tomorrow’s workless masses aimlessly awaiting some mere telomere resurrection reprocess program perpetually extending existence as experienced under traditional threescore years and ten life spans.

CARPE DIEM: EPIC DREAM or MAD RECIPE?