Waiting for 2026 - NYE
The horizon’s verge — piecemeal it may be
With futures past — bears our wandering minds
Still sleeping on the abyss. One chance sees
The eternal space bubble with all kinds
Of stars: burning habitations of glee.
Then, darkling surges of passing waves finds
An age between two worlds. Pathless, at first,
You walk with fire. Emerging now, you burst!
This poem was inspired by three of my tattoos, which came from three of my favorite works. Please find the original words here:
Between two worlds life hovers like a star,
’Twixt night and morn, upon the horizon’s verge.
How little do we know that which we are!
How less what we may be! The eternal surge
Of time and tide rolls on, and bears afar
Our bubbles; as the old burst, new emerge,
Lash’d from the foam of ages; while the graves
Of empires heave but like some passing waves.
I had a dream, which was not all a dream.
The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars
Did wander darkling in the eternal space,
Rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth
Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air;
…
The habitations of all things which dwell,
Were burnt for beacons;
…
Ships sailorless lay rotting on the sea,
And their masts fell down piecemeal: as they dropp'd
They slept on the abyss without a surge—
The waves were dead; the tides were in their grave,
The moon, their mistress, had expir'd before;
The winds were wither'd in the stagnant air,
And the clouds perish'd; Darkness had no need
Of aid from them—She was the Universe.
“Through the darkness of futures past, the magician longs to see. One chance out between two worlds . . . fire, walk with me” . . .