Is it poetry or prose?
I guess it does not matter one whit.
It is simply something that I am crafting.
Enjoying the play of words and paradoxical phrases.
An excerpt as it is, from a story that nearly writes itself.
A pause I’ve taken from it, yet here is the start of a possibility.
Yet it is a story, a story to tell and it is my story to tell and mine alone.
Was Not Was – an excerpt.
Sit a spell and listen, while I weave a tale of eternity. A tale as it were; of nothing and everything. It is a tale of light and dark of love and fear and all things in between. From the shadowed plains of nothing from long before time was perceived across the vast wilderness of then, until now. For this is a tale of creation. A true tale or as true as any other may be and it is a tale of love. Yet there is a difference in truths for this is not a hand me down story of assembled bits and pieces, but one of trial and hurt, hope and love, fear and joy and yes, yes my children, of enduring love throughout all. I have lived this tale over and over again and I am so very tired, yet I live it this one last time in hope.
Beyond the pale of time, far before the thing called man arose. Before the water parted and land rose. Before the birth of stars and generation of planets there was, and is, and remains; nothing. Void. The Void was a vast and formless formation of scintillating but very dull gray. Yet to define it as a color is a trite fault, for there was nothing yet there to witness it, or to decide if it was gray, or perhaps the only thought close enough to describe what was there echoed backwards from somewhere that could not exist. It was black or perhaps it was white. More likely it hung silent like the soft fuzz of gray mist draped languorously over an endless gray sea. I tell you though, that in that nothing was something. Something yet undefined, unknown. For untold lifetimes, beyond the measure of a dying star the gray existed idle, doing nothing, seemingly stagnant, entropic and lifeless. In the still vast silence of neverwhere the nothing thrummed.
Eventually and of its own accord, or through some unseen motion or force indefinable the gray became striated, separating. Slowly redefining its existence through no fault or will of its own it changed. Perhaps it was the lack of motion pulling it apart, categorizing this as that or that as this. Or perhaps motion was just beginning and so stirred the gray like a vast cauldron of muck, causing various nothings to separate into two finely indistinct planes of nothing. They lay as vast expanses of nothing becoming something reaching far beyond an imagination that as yet, was unperceived. Or perhaps they were spheres lying aligned, each occupying the same space the other was, and was not; with no space in between, yet there was space. Space enough for separation to begin. The separations should sound familiar, for across all time and no time the basic understanding of those wondrous facets remains the same. As above reflected below, something, nothing and anything compressed. The Dark and the Not Dark, and The Light and the Not Light and the non-existent space that lay fine and terrible between, simply came to be. Silence ruled.
Time? Time did not exist yet. There was no thing to define time. No reference point of existence. No clock ticking slowly upwards or down, sideways or across. No measure and no meaning to yet call anything resembling time. I tell you though, in time another awesome and improbable thing occurred. A Wyrding, an unknown occurrence or happening, beyond our perception. Whether through design or accident awesome, profound and terrible the unknown happened. Through expansion or an inward turning something changed, and as it changed something woke. It woke not in the sense of a traveler waking, stretching heavy arms towards a dawning light, head tilted back with a mighty yawn. Nay I tell you, no such thing was yet to occur. Within these spheres however, twin thoughts echoed mightily. Stirring the very stuff of the universe that could not possibly exist and echoed between the two what could only be called a thought was shared. I am. We Are. One though yet divergent, two; though inextricably intertwined.