Life is short;
I've given myself
ample space, to
ponder about such
a thing

It's short in the way
one's favorite
song is short,--

Why end a sweet,
and delicate tune
so soon?

Nothing's a matter,
it's foolish to think otherwise;

Of course, bills must be paid,
their skeletons stored
in metal cabinets
that clink and rattle far away
in some man's office we never see
but he gets paid, and that's enough

What of those out in the streets,
their characters found in books,
their inner voices guide us
through page after page,
and what do we learn then?

Life, you've alluded
every clever mind, and
Purpose, you've slipped
through every hand
that's tried so desperately
to grasp you

How silly we look under
the stars of a Mid-December
evening; it's cold, and the
lightning bugs are in full
bloom;

and so we chase
them until our hearts
fall back into our chests
like water into wooden buckets

Life is indeed, short;

we retire as do most things
of nature retire, and become
one with the earth;

the marble markings
our loved ones leave after
we're gone, remind us

not to come back;

at least for the time being.