new worlds quaking beneath our feet

coils of time and prophecy flexing

under the facade of appearance

that is the concourse of our daily living

to radiate up

in silent penetration

all manner of change

that morphs each moment of our condition

and those who struggled

patiently in diffidence or outright resignation

lie still to feel rise up in full of

the evolution of their subjective knowing

to a fulfillment of their weariness desire

for transcendence

well wherever they think they're going

they're certainly on their way

and may the destination even half-way

resemble what they sought in their dreams

may God at least be softer there to them

than He is here to us

and for the rest let them wonder

what plunges up through the broken concrete

of their long accustomed streets and walks

these limits of imagination

entombing them in their circumstance

most of us barely if rarely get away

we die with the place we know best

while some new land of distinctly different people

rise up to replace the dilapidated world

and the style of neighbor we're accustomed to

it is their turn to wreck and ruin

all shiny new intent

and with the same bloody ignorance that abused

all that came before

new world quake under our feet

and arrive without us knowing it

staring at the emptied out storefront

trying vainly to remember what was there before

while new sound fills the air and we as prophecized

acquiesce to the new worlds materializing before our sights

Content (c) 2008-2011 Philip Milito.