The Far Shore, Beckoning

The Far Shore, Beckoning

      It's time to
Turn the corner
Of this sacred
Geometrical figure
On which this reality
Is all based
And then make haste
To the Far Shore

          before entropy
              sets in
Yet once again.

To take things at
Their high tide
In our best stride:
That's the ticket
     to success.

     Let's do it,
               this

       Time.

And celebrate
   accordingly.
Bands, high fives,
         confetti -
   the works.
 For no man
 Or woman
To shirk
Their duty
At this propitious

     hour

With the far shore
  beckoning
  so profusely

 in our mind's

     eye.

That gland
     of

Connection

To our next stage
         of

  operation.

   Hooray!

     We've
    done it! -

  they said

      over
  and over
     again.

But meaning it
    this time

    perhaps.
And perhaps

      not.

    Time
 will tell.

As it always
     does.

So, put the bunting
     away
For now.
          And get on
With the job
          at hand:
          To say:

Chopping wood.
     And carrying

      water.

 The water
 on which
  we ride
      to
     our

 destination.

A paradox?
     Only
 seemingly
       so.
To those who
  don't have
      eyes

    to see.


     You

      see

     now?

 Of course
    you do.
You're up to

    the job

      this

     time.

I can see it
  in your

   Aye

    aye,

    Sir.

In alignment with
   the Will
   of your

  Creator

     this

    Time

and opportunity.