Unfinished Journey
I wonder how it'll pan out;
what if I say
I had a chance to sail with
Columbus, and
pretty sure the earth
was round back then.
But at some point still thought
the sky might fall off an edge
at somewhere on the horizon!
What if I say;
I've seen
the vast plains to the west;
From the French coast
I've seen huge mountains,
on the other side of an
enormous deep valley
that was shadowed by
the setting sun.
Beautiful British island!
It was before the time
they were separated
from the continent by
rising seas, as glaciers melted.
What if I say;
this painting you see
is given by the guy who paint it.
Van Gogh!
He would come to the place, paint;
I still remember we talked about
capturing nature in art.
Sometimes I feel,
I've traveled through an
endless flat space;
full of endless new things.
Forests, mountains, tundra, canyons.
My eye sees freeways, urban sprawl;
and with a blink of an eye
the world changes.
What if I say;
I've taken my memoirs
as a memento to my beginning
even if not knowing
the concept of the beginning!
I know it would be gone, lost.
You may think of me
fabricating these wild stories
that never makes any sense.
But the truth is;
it's just one man,
one place at a time,
the solitary viewpoint
of a world that
I know almost nothing about.
What if I tell you;
about my struggle to fin in
where I wanted to.
I thought traveling to the east
towards the rising sun.
I bewildered seeing an ocean
in the Mediterranean, probably.
I've seen the creation of myths;
New gods, so many, so different.
I doubt probable hogwash!
What if I say;
the story is not so untrue.
But it would vanish in disbelief.
A story that goes around
within the dream;
has no credibility.
Even if I could make you
believe me,
in month, you wouldn't.
Some of you would call me
a daydreamer;
Others would be angry
at a pointless joke
at times.
Time!
We can't see it, we can't hear it,
we can't weigh it, can't measure it
in a lab; only feeling a subtle
subjective sense of becoming
what we are instead of what we were a moment ago.
Considering it as a landscape,
existing before and behind us,
when we move, we move through it
Slice by slice!
The objective referent of a clock
is another clock.
They don't measure time.
In dreams, men could live
and travel outside of time
as we know it.
As it goes on
the unfinished journey
of a time traveler!
Pass it on.....!
Want to read more poems on Delirium! Check out the links below.
Thanking you.
[When The World Awaits! [Poems of Delirium]
[The mirror Afore; Search for it's own image!Poems of Delirium]
[The Road Not Taken! Poems of Delirium]
[Enchanting Whisper! Poems of Delirium]
[Juxtaposition! Poems of Delirium]
[Thinking; 'love' what i mean! Poems of Delirium]
[What if...! Poems of Delirium]