Tipping points

The unseen hinges of our destiny
Not noted in their own tick tocking time
Points on which the future pivots and implode
Pass, recognised in long retrospective sighs

Through the lense of moving history we see
The vital shot, the death, the tipping points
When futures as yet unseen are fired and forged
And battles won while wars that count are lost.

A baby girl born to a begger, cries
Ignored by witnesses who walk on by
That she the child unchished and unloved
Will be in time the rhyme and reason of their world.

So we live in love with pictures of the past
The ever rolling rearview of our lives
Never knowing then the coming day or hour
Our crazy seesaw world will reach a tipping point again

© Dave Kavanagh @ daithiocaomanaigh.com

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