At the same time being and becoming,
Letting go of now,
It’s the whistle while you’re humming,
With the puzzlement of how.
To be the parent of tomorrow,
And the child of today,
With the sentiment of sorrow,
That promises to stay.
To be oneself and find contentment,
But to know it won’t endure,
To struggle with resentment,
You’re safe but not secure.
. In a parallel dimension do we still exist?
. Do archived remnants of ourselves persist?

© Tim Grace, 10 October 2010

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To the reader: The multi-layered dimensions of life are not neatly stacked into rows nor columns. In a physical sense most of what we did yesterday is irretrievably gone. Likewise, tomorrow’s organization is as much fantasy as it is fact. And so today becomes the main arena, the fleeting zone of action and influence. By necessity then, much of what is done is overlapped with conflicting pressures and contrasting roles; all at once occurring.

To the poet: The subject of this sonnet is the conundrum. The persistent puzzle of being and becoming all at once. The challenge of writing a convincing argument about puzzlement is to end it still in wonder; and so the last two lines are questions. In this sonnet the rhyming structure (ABAB) could be split into two halves (AABB) and almost keep its sense of narrative.

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