Do we discover purpose, or is that
a given; that through life, we must fulfil?
To what extent are we determined, at
what point do we grip that moment still?
Is life just another conversation,
a string of thoughts? Ruminated verbiage
that connects two points upon occasion.
A life-span, that builds a virtual bridge
from here to eternity; quite a stretch.
A void, can’t be leapt in a single bound;
can’t be fathomed; a forward passing fetch,
caught on the fly – wrestled and brought to ground.
. Life’s narrative is given spin and span,
. just enough to scuttle the ‘best of’ plan.
© Tim Grace, 29 September 2014
To the reader: The ‘universal givens’ are built into the fabric of our design. Therefore, our solutions to some extent conform to a pre-determined brief. Within bounds there’s plenty of room to be creative but as nature so regularly displays, there are some basic patterns that warrant repeat: the beautiful helix, the golden ratio and fibonacci’s spiral; to name a few.
To the poet: Our purpose; a universal mystery, that asks: “Why are we here?”. Without certainty of purpose we have no option but to explore the potential of an uncertain existence. To chronicle that collective journey, the Arts provide an open ended narrative. Without apology, the Arts interpret uncertainty using imagination as its tool of choice. To search is our purpose… the mission is unclear.