The In Between

All around us, there exist the In Betweens,
Paradoxes of two worlds that hate each other -
Faraway galaxies that boast of their inherent beauty,
And vibrant and funky planets filled with life,
Born from the waters of one world,
And covered in the stardust of the other.

The waters of these planets have parted,
Separating into two hemispheres;
One confident and proud,
The other ashamed of coexisting on the same planet,
Yet approving of, but not quite acknowledging
The galaxies from whence they come.

They face constant dilemmas –
Loyalty to the other side of the earth,
Or to the rules of another galaxy?
They are troubled by earthquakes
That further separate their worlds.

"What planet are you from??", East asks West,
A question it knows the answer to, and does not deny,
Yet relates not to the people so many kilometers away.

They cannot understand.
-Akeem Lawrence, 4/14/08

Time

Time ticks, yet makes no sound
Time is round, yet never recurs
Time moves slowly, and quickly at the same time
Time is elegant, yet causes death
Time flies, yet has no wings
Time is of the essence, yet not essentially defined,
And precedes our existence

Time is monosyllabic, yet confuses many tongues
Time is four letters, yet they fade away in its presence
Time is short, yet it’s been here forever
Time waits for no man
Yet no man waits ‘til it’s time to get married
Time can be rewritten
But we haven’t figured out how

Time doesn’t smell, yet we stink over time
Time changes our tastes, yet has no taste
Time changes feelings, yet feels the same
Time is a magazine, and published on schedule
Yet it keeps no schedule, and every schedule
(At the same time)

Time is measured in numbers, yet can’t be truly counted
Time is a contrast, yet always the same
Time creates cycles, yet isn’t one
Or maybe it is, and we’re the constants
Because time only marks what happens
Again and again

Time is a secret
Only Time will tell...
-Akeem Lawrence, 4/6/08

Open Spaces

Open ends, open spaces, two sides of a coin.
Two meadows, two faces, where the other ones join.
Two seasons change places, and transform to four,
For times forgotten, and eight more.
And what of all these together?
The meadows still largely unfettered.

The question of whether
The meadows will ever
Grow green and plentiful,
Or barren and useless,
Alike or apart,
Was known from the start.

For in the heart
Of each grassy plain,
Toil the workers
Free of chains.
-Akeem Lawrence, 2/13/08