Cold Rambler

Mercy, pray mercy, the recognition of age— the one constant in life. It rules each aspect of our hours. it governs the how, the when and the why of our days. It even regulates our sleep— “Hey, it’s eleven o’ clock! I’ve got to get to bed!” It dictates how long  we rest and recharge our batteries, so we can rise and run  time’s course again.  Then, there’s the dream  of throwing the clock away, of burning time by choice alone. But the unemployed and  the retired know that this dream  is a nightmare disguised.  It’s the terror of a pen in hand,  a blank page before us and the nagging question— “What next? What next?” And there is no soothing settlement. We rue the demanding schedule, then mourn the structure once it's gone. The clock permits no compromise. And to think we did this to ourselves— the Lord’s one animal  that measures the passage of days. It’s the gift that’s really a curse.  Mercy, pray mercy, the recognition of age.  ...

If such a creature didn’t exist we’d have to invent it for sure. Whether Zeus or Allah, Jehovah or any of the rest, all fulfil the same  purpose. All create a framework  of behaviour, the laws of god which must be obeyed without argument, without thinking, without due process. All create a framework of rights. Some have them, others don’t. They’re god given so no argument, no thinking, needed. And all need a territory, a god given territory from the beginning of time and for evermore No argument, no thinking, god given.      Lynn White lives in north Wales. Her work is influenced by issues of social justice and events, places and people she has known or imagined. She is especially interested in exploring the boundaries of dream, fantasy and reality. She has been nominated for Pushcarts, Best of the Net and a Rhysling Award. https://lynnwhitepoetry.blogspot.com and https://www.facebook.com/Lynn-White-Poetry-1603675983213077/