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Requiem For A Time Traveller
Dead;
I lie before me.
My breath flows like tumbling mayflies,
leaping through the air to die.
The body, limp and grey
in this great cathedral of brown stone.
I kneel to pray,
but inhale, and feel, and be, this single day alone.
I stare at the corpse.
I see a future, or a past;
some god's die cast.
A film of life, with me.
The ribbon of existence free.
To feel the roll in these flesh hands,
and see it all at once.
To understand, and know from any frame the rest.
To see the worst and best.
To be in heaven's rest,
and unborn,
and here today.
The warm oak arch of the ceiling touches my face.
I watch me enter again, through skyborn rays,
as the film plays.
My life-breath curls and nods.
It wheels through the rods of sunlight,
towards the font,
and the marble altar,
laid out ready for the silent eyes of God.
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