Turning Again

 

Turning Again

 

Now to the turning again:

Artificial,

Out of sync,

The rhythm interrupted.

We speak of beginnings,

Of renewal,

But the night is already relinquishing it’s hold…

We miss the mark,

We defy the pattern,

We try impose our will on a natural order

That ignores our puny attempt.

It is only us that meet the seasons thus.

Papered calculation,

The days grow longer without our input,

It has already begun.

That is the true beginning,

There is the renewal underway:

Just days past,

But we measure from a farther point, 

And gain nothing.

We celebrate vigorously our erstwhile computation,

But the dark is already fading,

The light is already strengthened,

And we had no part in that.

What is it then that we honor?

Numbers only.

Are we so fearful of this cosmos

That we must ignore what always occurs

In spite of our paltry pursuit of control?

The tides still roll.

The winds still pass us by.

The moon waxes and wanes without our consent.

And the days will lengthen,

And then they will not,

And we must abide all of it.

Why do we celebrate the turning days late?

It shifts nothing.

It changes naught.

Without us these things would continue,

Will continue.

Such arrogance we display!

A grand celebration will commence

That observes an onset ten days past.

We impose our will on ourselves,

But not on the world we inhabit…

It observes the cadence without us,

And we are too small in spirit

To be a part of the whole.

We have lost something as a consequence…

And it was so long ago,

That,

We don’t remember what that was,

Or how we may retrieve it,

Though it is in my mind that we should,

Sooner than later –

Yes,

Much sooner than later.

Though,

Once we are gone,

The universe will persist,

And may not miss us at all.

 

Cliff Lake 12/30/2025

Copyright © Clifford Lake 2025