Threshold: Time

All the world shall pass,
but your word
                                 alone
remains.

I. Time

Disproportionate to your desire, Time
merely closes all its ends.

A well extends into a flurry of whispers.

You say, No:
For them, there is another world.

A chime sounds in the distance,
and all memory is contained in it.

`Quick Quick!’ yell the children,
`Before the window and the gate —‘
The branches have shivered and the garden
has smiled: `I do believe in fairies, I do, I do!’

A wren shall sound the knell
All memory contained within;
A second chime to end the spell
Erases what has been.

You close your eyes and reach into the wind.
Your hand joins upon a single element:
All else is a fury and a madness . . .

Note: This piece functions both a poem alone (one which I hope will someday be part of a longer poem) and a part of my fictional universe. As such, I thought it would make a fitting inaugural post.
Characters: Creare, HQ
References: T.S. Eliot, Four Quartets; J.P. Sartre, La Nausée; J. M. Barrie, Peter Pan.*
*Why the hackneyed giants, you may ask? I myself might ask. Stay tuned for a future post examining why, considering all I stand for, I continue to tie myself in this way to certain overrated patriarchs of the Western Canon. In the mean time, rest assured that I most certainly do not do it for the same reasons as Mr. T. S. Shut-Up-And-Write-Poetry Eliot. (gods, what a nightmare. amiright?)