Grape Salad

We, formed in the mind of HIM and breathed into Time's kazoo,
hurtle forth perplexed, with a small grape salad in each hand.

We think
we lack tickings of clocks, grand hellos or rambling thoughts
we think
we lack calendar photos or celebrations of first cries
we think,
...this one had a good run
...that one didn't have a chance
...the other one should not have been granted an audience

Shadows writhe along the walls assured
we are only a physical breach, a tipsy toddle, the rotting of chromosomes
Hollows sound with mule brays basking in their owlish delight
we are only rounds of a checkers game stalked by crowned enemy kings in our Wake

Few Lights blazon and blink down a path walked by countless fogs
here we are, immortals

Some journey two pages and depart to evergreen trees, crisp ocean breeze, a bubbling of friendly rejoices and kisses
Some wander four chapters and depart to putrid nightmares, clogged in a room of knives obscured, no whimper of sympathy.

But ALL walk and walk and walk
along a Timeline-
with a promised beginning and an ever reaching, never end,
interrupted by a momentary glitch-
and stumble
into Comedy or Tragedy