Poets are not a lazy gazy lot, I canWorking
Attest as I am hard at work putting pen
To page, in the metaphorical custom of
A digital age. I write in deep reflection, thinking
Hard of what it all means, all– I
mean
To say– is life itself from beginning to an end we
Do not want to imagine or foresee, foretelling with the
Same foreboding you feel, an
end I
Can see is inevitable even as
I enjoy my walk and
Indulge myself in my doings, coming and
Goings, as carefree as if there were not
An end in sight.
Tag Archives: #life_like_time_passes
Working
Poets are not a lazy
Gazy lot, I can attest
As I am hard at work
Putting pen to page,
In the metaphorical
Custom of a digital
Age. I write in deep
Reflection, thinking
Hard of what it all
Means, all-- I mean
To say-- is life itself
From beginning to an
End we do not want
To imagine or foresee,
Foretelling with the
Same foreboding you
Feel, an end I can see
Is inevitable even as
I enjoy my walk and
Indulge myself in my
Doings, coming and
Goings, as carefree
As if there were not
An end in sight.
Through the years
Who was I as all my years
Accumulated? The time is
Not a continuum. It breaks
Into small scenes, acts as
Distinct as if each were a
Life encompassed in 15
Minute skits, not all funny.
Many poignantly true to
Life. So much time passed,
Passes unnoticed, goes
Into a compartment, a
Memory perhaps not always
Remembered as it should
Be. I do know my last acts,
The 35 years I spent by your
Side are vivid, not blurred
By slippery recollections. I
Know who I am every moment
Of these years, the years
That are my longest acts,
Not broken into bits, solid
And happy in reminiscence
As they were in real time,
True to life.
Tamara, really 