Fear of tomorrow’s salvation

We walk a long staircase
spiraling down a shaft
of darkness.

A metaphor for the decent
step by step of life, of memory,
of being.

We cry painfully as babies
in the lonely stillness
of waking.

The expressed desire to be
hidden carried in a placenta
of forever.

Eyes open blinded by paradise
not seeing its sham
of illusion.

The stimulation quivers
eternity’s shifting currents
of creation.

A pricked finger reveals
a vibrant red drop the nectar
of life.

The fluid soon will dry and crack
to be scattered by the rush
of tomorrow.

I fear that there is only darkness
in death’s waking illusion
of life.

Where being is the creation
for today’s forever promise
of tomorrow’s unfulfilled salvation.

Copyright: 2008, Donald Harbour