There is no sense of time, there is no sense of space
That cliff in Africa, where we screamed like madmen
That ancient mountain ruin, where we sought tribal ghosts
That crisp night air, where we saw the infinity of space unfold above us.
These are moments where we captured what we could of the present, in ever-rolling moments,
and held it closer than a lover on the bed of brown winter grass.
We hand-fasted ourselves with now, renewing our vows with each passing breath.
Hearken, friends, to these words, and you might just catch a glimpse of the shooting star
You might just see the glow of the distant truck over the horizon
You might just taste the flavor of the air over your cold tongue
This collective conscious of 3, unearthing each new second as a precious gem,
rare in its mining and even more valuable in the cutting of its facets.
We all can become the beneficiaries of such rare a mineral, but we have forgotten our trade.
We have settled for someone else doing the rough work, enslaving others for the digging.
I implore you DIG. I urge you SEEK. I ask you LOVE.
And maybe together we can all make the most of this thing we do called life.