For what is life but a series of comings and goings
The burying of bones and its exhumation
Forgetting and remembering
A regurgitation of the past, the present its mirror and
A future that is a longing for something that might be
A repetition of the summer and rainy days of youth,
But each repetition the sun blazes much brighter and hotter
And the rains bellowing and wheezing,
Its torrents ever more increasing
Like the angry hand on a dull knife
Cutting frantically onto the thawed piece of flesh
Frustrated and annoyed and tired and weary
Hinged onto the surrender into the absurd
A descend into chaos and a ladder back
To the somber and profound certainty of the eternal.