The Chord

Measuring time one heart beat after another

The chord, it binds us all to life, so fragile like thread gossamer billowing in the breezes.

The tethering anchors us to a form and shape and from this encased vantage point we watch the decade’s parade.

The chord resonates in fixed and measure beats, blood trajectories as pulsed rhythms through our red river mortality.

The chord tethers us to self, to being, to others in filament webs so fine that only time itself can sever in a host of long measured goodbye.

The beating heart runs a metered distance from first to last the rhythms and numbers unknown.

Then severed we drift free, the chord is cut by the muses of fate ancient as all history to be absorbed into the ether time and space, scattered to the breezes, fractured particles that drift between the web of chords like fading memory.

 

Author's Note

Greetings an salutations.