Everything you see today,
Is the creation of one.
Not of god,
Nor the sun,
But the universe
And all the lights sum.

Death comes for us all the preacher has said

But the teachers keep teaching

Still trying to fill heads

They say knowledge is power

but when the hour draws near

they look away and put the books away

And hold the ones they held dear



But, Death comes for us all the preacher did say

We all loved someone at one time

and minded the tears of yesterday

See to love and lost is better

The loathsome chatter is spewed

blissful ignorance is what i insist

As I bid my love adieu



Still death comes for us all I understand with regret

see love is never perfect

Hearts muddied and palms wet

Emotions haunt the ones

that see love flaunted some

times they change and sear

The mindful watch as it spins the clock

As the hour itself draw near

She didn't see the life left to be had,
All she saw was Darling Dear dark and sad.
She held so tightly Darling Dear, four years old
Little did she know, Darling Dear had grown up dark and cold.
Mama didn't know the strength in Darling Dear,
Befriended by the shadows, she had no remaining fears.
She loved Mama and Mama loved her back,
But nothing was as beautiful as Darling Dear gone black.
--Emily Rutledge

echoing images pass through aged eyelids.
through deadened nerve and grey matter.
leaving themselves in limbo.
hanging in air.
floating.
captured only in fleeting stills on pages.
unrecognizable.
clouded in murky after thought.
"Remind me again of who that was," it begins.
"Do I know them," it continues.
and with confused silence it ends.

Is it worse to continue to remind someone of what once was
than to just let me go?

Life: The Pages Between Birth and Death
The book too thick to actually choose to read.
Cross-referenced with words too lengthy to even sound out.
Adjectives and adverbs, metaphors and similes
Neatly describing each seminal moment
That no longer makes sense.
A book dust covered and yellowed.
Pages dog-eared citing someone's past interest
In whatever was actually printed however many years ago.
Saying "Not the read I want,"
As I place it back on the shelf.
Avoiding the unavoidable,
I pass on it.
At least for today.