Category Archives: Life and death

Times Door

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In perfect sight I see what’s come to pass.
You look at what has become of me proud.
If only there was a route through time, fast.
It’s passing waits for no discussion now,
Of its illusory being. Refrains,
From malicious temptation? Indifferent.
We’ll forge on alone beside mans best bane.
Though a companion of ours, unpleasant.
In fear or pride we think it’s forgotten?
Who would remind death of our numbered days?
And at the door of eternity, one,
Perhaps would ask what’s this last toll to pay?
There’s nowhere else to go but through the door.
Here time won’t follow, you’re alone. Go forth.

Death and Dreams


Beauty in death is seen
In the dreams in which we linger,
As we gently float down the stream
Is not life but one such dream?
The words upon which our resting skulls lay,
Wait to enter an absent mind.
It is too late and there is no time,
Beauty in death only repays in kind,
And dreams, it seems,
One cannot but find.

The Moral of the Story Is

Sit in shadow,
Bathed by the light.
Wonder where to go,
Preparing to take flight.
I’ve nothing to take with me,
I’ve nothing to leave behind,
Naked into the world I enter,
And naked I leave it in kind.
I am solemn in the dark,
I’ll live and love what’s best,
Who’s to say what’s what?
Do you know the qualifying test?

Once-Life


I hold a once-life
It shall remain here sleeping.
Resting in my hand
It gave its breath keeping,
Its heat to give back,
Its heart nevermore beating.
The wings no longer carry
Its small form into the sky
It simply lays here
While I,
I held a once-life and it remains there dreaming.

An Element of Rust

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An element of rust remains
Upon the earth and what it contains.
No matter what rain may come
Still there’s rust when the day is done.
Iron towers crumble, boulders fade before the wind.
A question of death and the wages of sin.
Why should you wonder? Put it from your mind.
Rust to soil, then back to human kind.
Imperfect decay, gives birth to perfect form: us.
In all this there’s at least one word to trust,
Life is life, and death is death,
And from both we must make the best.

From This Grave

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…and from this grave a flower grows
A little part of what’s lost shows
Then one tear from these eyes flow
At the sight of a flower that grows.

Bone Garden

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A garden of bones,
Planted in stone.
Living are the seeds sown,
Decay: germination’s home.
Bones become as the flower blooms,
And blooming into a flower unseen,
Mice are this flowers bees.
This garden of bones is no tomb.