STOP

STOP

An inflexible foe,

You natter at my sensibilities,

A permanent companion 

Whether wanted or not.

I despise you

Though I do not say it.

I revile you

Though my secret’s safe.

For to voice such concerns

Are to air them

And aired thoughts

Can be shattered.

I have no wish for such a splintering,

Such a fragmentation of me,

For time is precious.

Without it,

Incomplete,

We circle creation

In endless loops.

Without it

We, me, you and I are nothing,

Which worries me most

When I fear it soon shall

STOP.

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Temporal Lovers (Part 5)

img-alternative-textGwendolyn was everywhere. Her eyes watched, lips kissed, heart went out to me. As I ventured to shift the paradigms of space and time, her image sought to secure me. She wrestled with infinity, and I realised what a fool I’d been.

Why search for the answers to the past when one had an unexplainable future? I had wasted what I now wanted to quantify, the only answer I received that which I already knew: I was a fool.

I closed my eyes, reached down a hand I could not feel and grasped fingers lost to time. My brain said push, my fingers did as bidden. Time looped; I felt it. Time looped and whirled and span and kicked and fought and hated and loved and loved and loved.

I woke to air and the most beautiful chestnut eyes. My helmet lay on the floor at my darling Gwendolyn’s feet.

“Satisfied?” she whispered.

“For a time,” said I.

The End.

Temporal Lovers (Part 4)

img-alternative-textWithout sight to guide me, I relaxed into a world of strangely calming pain. I had known my chemical concoction would hurt and had prepared for it, but had not factored for its abrupt dissipation. The pain vanished almost as soon as I was rendered blind. I could’ve been just a fool in a suit in a laboratory in a house, or I could’ve been something entirely different. Senseless, I awaited life’s next stage.

When, at last, a chill took upon me and my view cleared to a dripping window, my world had changed. Gone was my home, my country, my earth and in its place, the stars. The universe materialised in a trillion specks of light. They did not stand still.

The sensation of movement was never there, but move I did. The stars gained speed to incalculable velocities, my everything a blinding single light. At its centre, my love.

To Be Continued…

Temporal Lovers (Part 3)

img-alternative-textThe chemical soup entered my mouth with stinging acidity, then flowed down my throat like the bitterest pill. A churning crock-pot, my stomach took the brunt of the attack. Soon, the pain in my body was eclipsed by the burning behind my eyes. The room spun. The world spun. Just I thought myself time’s greatest fool, a man who in seeking knowledge had ignored facts and paid the price, everything changed.

It started with my laboratory; the pictures danced. Be them portrait, photograph or idle sketch, the collated images of a life devoted to science moved of their own volition, the smallest first and largest last. The final picture to vibrate into life was that of Victoria herself. Gone was the grey gloom, returned the softness of youth. In the blinking of an eye, our sovereign became a child.

I watched in disbelief as the glass viewing portal steamed, and I, unable to raise my arms to wipe it, was lost to a universal fog.

To Be Continued…

Temporal Lovers (Part 2)

img-alternative-textFormerly the trappings of an aquanaut, my containment suit was a most uncomfortable means of surfing time. As already mentioned, the weighted, steel boots I had secured to the tiled floor allowed for no lateral movement. Good, because if they had, there’d have been no telling where I may or may not have materialised, or, rather, what may or may not have materialised within me.

My whole theorem was that time should move around me rather than me through time. If I had interfered with said time, the consequences to myself would have been dire. Or so I reckoned, anyway. Better to be safe than sorry in matters of life and death.

The mahogany lever attached to my left leg was now in the fully vertical position, which allowed my suit to fill with the chemicals required to facilitate my extraction from reality. They bubbled, fizzed and rapidly expanded from the inert lake around my knees to a volcanic brew that raced through the suit. When the liquid reached my mouth, I panicked. Who wouldn’t have? However, by then, it was much too late to go back.

To Be Continued…

Temporal Lovers (Part 1)

img-alternative-textTime looped, whilst I remained immobile. Bolted to my laboratory floor, the temporal suit, my greatest invention, allowed its occupant to experience the universe as only a god should.

I had strapped myself in with the harness made from a horse’s reins; the leather worn but strong, then dared and double-dared my brain, who rebelled at the time, into adjusting that last lever. I had, of course, placed a self-explanatory note on the mantelpiece addressed to my dear Gwendolyn. Resting against the carriage clock we had purchased with our joint savings on first moving into our home, it symbolised our love. My wife, however, had not the same propensity for knowledge as I, instead, preferring happiness over the pursuit of answers. I could not be happy without knowing the answers, and so a stalemate was reached. She would never have truly understood.

My fingers grasped the mahogany lever carved from the leg of a favourite bureau; it felt real in a world that was not. A final glance to England’s monarch, Victoria staring out from her portrait like a doom-laden soothsayer, and I was ready. I pulled the lever.

To Be Continued…

Childhood Lost

Beneath crayola skies, we lingered,
Watching little butterflies flit between branches,
Laughing at the starlings as they caused kerfuffles
That only they knew
And only they could end.
This place of colour, light and creation,
Unsullied by adolescent snobbery
And adult ignorance, bewitched us.
When did we lose it?
When did we lose us?
We sit looking at a leaden heaven
Impervious even to X-ray eyes,
Refusing to divulge either answers or lies
With weights heavier than hearts should be
Pulling at our cavernous chests.
This is not us.
This is not the way we should be.
Childhood has bequeathed us everything
And delivered nothing,
Yet to return is considered a backward step:
It is only step to regain that innocent joy.