Since time is taken universally,
to be measured in portions to each
thing a time and seasons, within that time,

to use the will to live, and let seem living
all - what, curiously wrought musings,
wordless, falling for the lure, seems living
moving itself aright, as often wines may do,
inviting titles do to musers unbemused,
but no child knows the meaning of things
such as admonitions not to look upon
the wine red, swirling beauty, see
books judged by covers oft stink of
deceitful meats, imagine the ruler's
condescension, partake in silence,

answering freely all who question why,
breathe-ing and eating,
I am but a temporary mover of matter,
from one state to another, as I pass along
this trail that speaks of long disuse,
where it leads, at this junction,
I lack a will to lie and say I know, but

I know, I am willing to believe, where
I would be if I turned around, here

from there, relatively no time at all,
nonsensed wish to be known,
for having been a survivor,
sensed as something natural, self

set up to become this old, enough
to know, no greater need than peace
with purpose, a faith that your duty

is to learn and make do-good things
from things not being used at all.

We on Earth, honestly,
we have no where to go and be,
we do know what must be done,
we leave undone all we have no

will, or means, no way, to do right,
no way to do at all, wrong or right,

yet, with a will used to prove, right
my will, a will used to wait, to see

after many days, few change life's initial
gravitational course.