Tag Archives: Existentialism

A Poem Composed on the Slate of Never

A Poem Composed on the Slate of Never

Slate of Never

A Poem Composed on the Slate of Never

Let not my life be deemed a fleeting dream,
Fast dissipating into nevermore,
Adrift upon time’s everlasting stream,
Floating away to oblivion’s shore!

Let not my breath be aspiration vain,
As transient wind passing through the trees,
An inspiration without lasting gain,
A dying utterance, a wistful breeze!

Let me live each day as my final day,
Breathing each breath as though it were my last!
Let my thoughts in this precious present stay,
Reflecting this universe, deep and vast!

Let this one moment echo forever,
A poem composed on the slate of never!

~ Daniel F Mitchell

 

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Back into the Black Hole

Back into the Black Hole

Back Into The Black Hole

Back into the Black Hole  

Cosmic dust is what we are,
Remnants of an ancient star,
Drifted to a distant shore,
To dance a while in sunlight,
Then slip away into the night,
Back into the black hole once more.

~ Daniel F Mitchell

 

Of Counting Sunbeams

Of Counting Sunbeams

Counting Sunbeams

Of Counting Sunbeams

I count the sunbeams of golden noon,
Sowing glory upon my outstretched hand –
My form of mud, of dust, of crumbling sand.
Perhaps I reap a swathe of harvest moon.

As distant fantasies of my childhood,
Upon the angel-winged breeze I ride,
United, as one with evil and good.
In the reflection of stars, I abide.

I distill all feeling into one breath,
Divinity upon the autumn air.
I justify the weight of looming death,
Abiding here, yet being everywhere.

I sing today the song of all I see.
I appraise the worth of my conception –
Basking in the effulgent mystery,
Of being a moment of perception.

With uplifted voice, today I refrain –
Should tomorrow’s chance never come again.

~ Daniel F Mitchell

 

Shadows and Sand

Shadows and Sand

Shadows and Sand

Shadows and Sand

We are only shadows and sand,
Blending into deepening shades of dusk.
We are fire in mystery’s hand,
Fragrance of bloom lost to decay’s stale musk.
We are vague promises broken,
Form and motion that time will soon rescind.
We are secrets vainly spoken,
Rumors on the dusty tongue of the wind.

~ Daniel F Mitchell