For my father: A wrinkle in Time
A poem dedicated to the mystery of being alive
On a family roadtrip in the outback of Australia, my dad insisted I write a poem. And so as I watched the magnificent beauty of the transforming horizons around me, I wrote.
She stood tall and ever watchful —
As the Wind,
Waves
and Rain
demanded her fall.
She crumbled,
she was sculpted.
Ice and Gravity,
broke her.
Then tamed her.
But she stood ever so tall,
Watching as
Kingdom flourished then perished,
Man came and fell,
Civilisation built then destroyed.
Blood was spilt,
Family ties created and broken,
Alliances were made,
Lovers, mothers
Friends and foe.
Generations had passed,
Alive only through its stories handed down
Rich with history —
Some lived,
Some died,
And some will forever live on.
Yet she stood eternally tall —
Watching over all of existence
Her wrinkles telling the tales of time,
Carrying scars of its past
Some would live
Some would die
And some would forever live on in her soul
Woven with the light of the thousands suns it had seen,
She stood ever so tall
As a symbol of strength, eternal beauty.
