Most think of Destiny as an ending,
The final place where the road stops,
But this is only partly so,
Destiny is always first,
And all else that is follows after,
Grinding on in colors, smells, flavors,
Wars, betrayals, trips to the grocery store,
And, of course, deaths,
But that is the Destiny of us all,
And yet this is also not the end.
(don't believe me?
There is, at least, memory,
And that is less complete with every passing moment.
That is no kind of Destiny.)
So, now:
What can we believe of Destiny?
Is it, as the name suggests, Destination?
What Destination can there be, when time flows on?
There are too many questions here, and no answers.
A ghost, then,
Without substance,
Nothing.
Perhaps, Destiny is simply movement,
Purposeless, blank and riverine,
A kind of desolation we are born into,
Tasked with overcoming, and creating on our own.
No comments:
Post a Comment