Heraclitus’s Arrow

Do not call out “now.” You cannot hold in your palms
The rivers that erode their own boundaries.
Covenants fade in enduring sleeplessness,
Where the old order renounces its limit.

Step into the surf – and a different wave flows.
You entered a second time – you passed as another.
The current carries us – blind and sinful –
Into the abyss of those who grasped their shore.

Look to the zenith! There, lightning rages.
The lightning steers the firmament with a steel helm.
In its core, there hardens and pulses
All that for which one previously lacked strength.

God was fire – He became dust in the glass
Hourglass of ruined sanctuaries,
To flare up in every earthly being,
Burning away the antiquated shadow of time.

Here, a day is like a cross-section. Life is a brief moment,
A soul’s bridgehead, torn and worn,
Where your vector burns in every vein,
And battle is the only shield against death.

The taut bow – that is a secret harmony;
The arrow and the flight – a single canvas.
Being is a spark, audacious and futile,
Which stitches through the bottom of Eternity.

Burn! For peace is mold and decay.
Become the ash that stole the fire of the gods.
In this river, there is no “step backward,”
Only the roar of elements and golden wrath.