Eddying Eras

First published in The Tower Journal 

A preternatural rush of flowing air,

a bewildering twirl of my surroundings.

Colors merge to form perplexing hues

my searching eyes have never seen before.

The ring of earth that encircles me

melts to form a swirling mass of confused tones,

that fade with the elapsing backdrops

as I stand rooted in one place

traveling through the disorienting fabric of space--

that transforms as each second wears away,

gaining me the rare, precious minutes

I had let go by without my noticing

as each sun set, as every single day

ticked by while I remained shackled by blissful oblivion

that is represented by slumber, of all the other times

the hours had passed at a confounding speed

to which I was unable to pay heed.

A disorderly mesh of voices

like multicolored strings of yarn,

incapable of disentangling themselves,

drift like confused currents to my listening ears,

of different pitches, varying tones,

blending to form one,

which I can't discern beyond a single word

because there are so many.

Altering temperatures, rising from a freezing chill

to sweltering heat,

interspersed with cascades of rain

that disappear as suddenly as they arrived.

The sun rises and sets disarmingly fast,

carving an immaculate arc across the sky,

darkening and lightening intermittently

of fluctuating intensities,

giving way to the moon and stars

once it completes its course

predetermined by forces beyond our command.

And in a trice, it all stops-

and I find myself in the past,

at a time exceeding my powers of comprehension,

having artfully escaped the pressures of the present,

to find solace in the rapture

of not having been born yet--

just a mere spirit lingering about,

attached to the clouds of the century-old skies.