How long have I journeyed to come this far?
Nine months? A thousand years? Longer?
There is no way of knowing
for time is only created by my moving through it.
Behind me there is no time;
only a past with no past
lying silent, abandoned
reaching back with questing fingertips
to the first spark of creation.
And the light which I see ahead – is that the future?
But how could the future be so bright, so glorious?
I feel afraid for what might come
for such glory only comes with sorrow
and the praise of angels
is the same song as their lament
and my last yesterday will be the world's first tomorrow.
I move onwards in spite of myself
for I am the irresistible force
which has been gathering itself through the ages
and my first breath shall be my last
and my sorrow shall be my glory
and my pain shall be the soft sigh of angels’ wings
rustling with quiet redemption
as the world tells my story.