Time is all that sets us free
To all the wonders, that can be humanly perceived
Time is all that binds us
To mundane, almost emotionless routines we have conceived.

Time is the ticking of the clock
That gnaws at us; leaving no immediate mark
Time is the face that has come to mock
It creeps on regardless; you notice it turn light to dark.

Time is the invisible candle that everyone innately holds
It gets lit from the moment we open our eyes
Time is not the wick that gives berth to flame
Rather it is the waxes that burn and then vaporise.

Time can and will never stop
Moments go by with the blink of the eyes
Time..., it does not favour
It isn't biased, it doesn't get swayed by truths or lies.

Time is the entity that governs almost all
It will tell when it deems it's right
From seedling to tree, hatchling to flight
A weakness to strength, the frail to might.

Time is the quest
That we have strived to conquer
Time is all of us
We have secretly craved for life much longer.

Time would only permit
All that I could pen in time
Time will always suggest to omit
So I could capture it all in rhyme.

Pure achromatic, immaculate egg, sits in a nest.
Shaking and rustling, exploding at its best.
Once hatched it latched to its mother’s wit.
For the hatchling knew that she needed it.

The dove it flourished as a dove should,
And it grew so beautiful as beautiful as she could.
Now with integrity and innocence,
The dove knew to find love, it would finally make sense.

My Dove found love of the falsest facets,
Honeyed words of lust; they lack it.
Flattering gestures that quicken heart beats
Do often allow the dove to glide off her feet.

But Honeyed words don’t often last,
And soon that love became her past,
And now she wanders lonely in the clouds,
But this kind of love attracts only nimbus clouds
Of which to them she was avowed.

Now a dove,
Is indeed a symbol of love,
But love so pure and true,
The kind of love
That is common to a dove
Hunger for it, a yearning sensation within you.
Hunger, Thriving, Craving for this feeling of being complete,
But can’t you see that dependency leads to obsolete.
You will never be you,
You’ll be the both of you.
Is that what you want?
You want, you need to be someone’s gaunt
Old, decrepit partner?

Not I, I am alone,
But not lonely.
I am empty
Yet complete.
I am moist,
Yet dry as a desert.
I am me,
Yet no one at all.

.
In a drearing height on grave dead bones of branch,
Where leaves conspicuously kept craven distance,
Forsaken lovers set about to roost on topple-
Down sprig to break each side of their own family
Tree.  With a clutch of ruff stones, pulled hardly
Rare, with green hearts a-glowing from gizzards,
They fed six hatchling harpies, all tooth and wail
But one, whom they feared would not take to tearing
Flesh and to them appeared a foundling, not a rock,
But some down weathered creature, without lift,
All weight and no sun, savage grace had shaped
A new bound Prometheus, still dying for sleep.

                                                         ­         Provided
At birth, with nest and wings, each lashing rigged
In wax.  My father, who from a race of lions,
A king and the last of his kind, built, whilst mother
Destroyed and she, the culling raptor, by incestuous
Murdering, would pick and scrape to clean the marrow
From our souls, preening, like a clip winged eagle,
Would screech throughout all season, suffering close
To the essence of faith, my father, who with her formed
Two halves of a wounded gryphon, un-noble in pride
With a bent on fatal flights of his own undoing,
Marveled at her eyes, gray and gay as accusers,
She cursed in sight of angels, all wings below
Heaven.

My brothers, exotic birds all, limbo dancers,
Preferring the colder climes, flopped after me
And never became fliers, for feathers to them
Were but fantails for a harpy, or for gathering
Dust or at best, something to support their own
Lying.  And I found myself, the mid-heiring brood,
In a state when the soul is after dreaming to its body,
Hobbled-de-boyed at the abyss and I saw through
That air and my fold, I dreaded like omens and echoes
Of extinction, like mixed messages of flightless birds
And managed to pierce the innards of ovate shrouds,
To spike that filmy firmament and the yoke, fell away
And the seep hole ground was spurting and the sky,
An ocean of bloom, in all direction, winked—
With a maelstrom eye, for amongst my family, full
Of strangers, I heard that soul lifting love only God
Could send, sleepwalking on thresholds of faith.

I awoke from a dream and felt that I could fly,
Not like the yearning Icarus but, like a rash
Of spirit or that Arabian bird— simply leave
This earth and make my way through its mantle, blithely
Fallow, shedding my harrowed bone, I dropped off,
Sprung from my ashen bed of down and rose—
Out of doors, splintering from the smote that cut
Down the youth of my days, almost smothered away
And I blazed above the icy coal pelted perch,
My wings spreading far from gross flames as they died,
Unfettered in judgements, scaled so feathery, they conceived
That weight was a lie and the waste I kept, from eyes,
As leaves, became a parish of open palms as I spred
My plume and breath now bore an atmosphere
And lungs, they powered the wind and streaming rays;
My frozen veins, burst, blinding an earthen sun
And fled my shadow, transfigured in flight, into
Being, some aerial creature— not a pure spirit,
But like a child soaring, whose wound was as a wing,
On the heal.



— a metamorphosis
.

From the beeginning


A heart beats…
A heart beats again…
A heart beats…and then another.
A heart beats…
And then another
And then another
And then another,
Until the rhythm of the hearts sounds like thunder!
Welcome to life inside the cocoon…


Eyes open.  Eyes close.
Eyes open again…a blink as a brain begins to think…
Something is happening…a heart beats, in tune.


A claw drags itself along a wall and the thread begins to break.
Another claw drags along the same wall, searching for a way to escape.
A hole is pierced in a silk weaved shell.
The air blows in as the senses dwell,
Upon this feeling; inhaling, exhaling…breathing.


A heart beats…a claw is seen waving,
Through a tear in the sealed, protective pod.
The hole grows from fingers and toes, moving faster now.
Somebody is home…the outside noise it calls…a sound so odd.
The casing rolls and legs kick the air…this creature has a soul.
A fist bursts through the surface of the shelter, forming another hole.
A hand reaches out from inside to take a hold.
Another fist; another hand, a larvae is emerging
And soon the outer seal that binds,
All the trapped thoughts of a hive mind,
Are broken free and born with a lasting memory.
Knowledge gained through ancestral experiences;
The creature is still learning…
The cage is broken but never the bond.
The Queen Bee watches all her children,
As they emerge from their growing beds
And she sits there listening to ‘The Greeting Bees’ sing their songs.


The egg rolls once more onto its side.
The embryo is now no longer trapped inside.
It pushes open the wall to create a door to the world…
There appears a furry ball with a spike on its tail.
The story of creation is that nature prevails.


As the furry ball elongates to take its true shape,
A head appears from beneath a body.  The creature is now awake.
As open eyes look for the future, straight ahead,
The story repeats, again and again and again.


Another broken outer layer;
Everywhere the open eyes look, another bee is soon becoming.
Some bees have broken out at the first chance,
Others developed later, but they are all quietly humming.


And at the end, when all the embryos were released,
The remained but a single sleeping bee…


The impatience grew, but still they were made to wait…
A heart was beating, the bee was moving,
But still it did not try to escape…
Some other new bees began to crawl away.
Older bees had gathered to see and they were left truly amazed.
The time had come, the hatchling’s were born,
The hard work was done…
For all, except one.


So still the elders waited…


The bees that were free soon found the honey
And with time they gained their strength and ate.
As the sunlight turned into moonlight,
There remained a solitary bee who did things his own way.
He had decided to remain, saved in storage;
He was still building his courage.
All the courage he could ever need…
All that he could ever bee…


When all the other onlookers had given up waiting,
The Queen Bee sat and watched patiently…
And then at last a head pushed through the case.
It saw a face.
The Queen Bee was waving elegantly.


As the bee rolled out of its bed,
It lowered its head to The Queen Bee of the Bumbles.
She looked into his eyes and said…

“I think I will name you Humble…”


(C)2017 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.

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