the bowl of water
filled to the brim
clinging to surface tension
is still,
so still.

the bowl, earthen,
feels heavier than it really is
because its mass is augmented
by the weight of centuries
of truth and insight.

no breeze or environmental vibration
dares disturb or ripple or breachthe contract
between the water surface,
the edge of the bowl,
the mass of its substance,
and the soul of the seer
meekly peeking in
because on this day
the seer is me,
and the wrath of weather
and imminent natural disasters
and disturbances in the flux ofkarmic balance
  dating back those centuriesthe bowl has seen
dare not interfere with the momentI hover
slowly yet intently
quietly yet observantly
calmly yet with the gravity of expectationof reliable insight.

for today I see
tomorrow
and I see yesterday
and I see the weight of grand historicalmovements
and I see patterns in civilizations
and I see the sporadic yet compelling
  moments of unlikely ecstasy
  lovers are happily clobberedwith
  in the face of the jackbootgrind
  of inconsiderate time andcircumstances,
and I see the drift of countlesslives
  that merely stumble intotomorrow
  without intent, vision orfocus,
and I see the assertive steps
  of the ones who tomorrow
  will shake the earth
  with their mere resolve
  and glance
  and quietly spoken word
  and morality through example,
and I see all the neo-Machiavellians
  and petty despots
  and mongers of social decayfor their own gain
  for they cannot live
  under the bowl’s radar.

and when I finally sit up
and stretch
and inhale deeply
and piece it all together
you will either be with me tomorrow,on my side,
or against me, to be steamrolleredin poetic judgement.
so. beware!

Copyright 2002, Stephen Buckley
09.04.02, 1135-1155pm