Clerics mixing elixirs
in a dark grotto underground
warmed by candlelight.
Protected from chaos,
famine, desperate hoards
and plague.
Protected from
endless waves
crashing futile
against the cliffs.
You will never turn lead into gold.
But what miracles you will discover
anyway!
New science and delights await:
Ancient wisdom
lost to sediment,
and knowledge
they will marvel at
in 4000 years.
You are in a current outside of time.
One eddy
in a planetary ocean.
One dot in a maze.
One pixel.
No one can pull the lens
all the way back,
see the whole picture,
because we are creating it.
We are verbs speaking the true
native language
of Life.
© S. Rinderle, May 2026
I love your poetry! Powerful.
Thank you Ildi! I appreciate you reading, and taking the time to comment.