Preface
Life is bookended by nothing.
Grasp what nothing truly means.
Nothing is not another form of something.
Nothing is — nothing.
Where were you long ago?
All that time before a tot.
In some distant god’s château?
No. Not there. You were not.
Perhaps a soul in surplus stock,
A spirit not yet wrought.
Dressed in some heaven’s frock.
No. Not there. You were not.
Then came a twist of fate,
***** and egg were now one.
In this way did they create.
Your life had begun.
So began your book of life,
That in volumes three.
The past, the present,
and the yet to be.
Life is always in the now,
Presents itself as a choice.
Many matters to disavow,
To others, you give a voice.
Life is more than career,
Love is much more dear.
To love another earns its worth,
Makes your mark upon the Earth.
Take the time to stand and stare,
Feel the sun burst in the air.
Enjoy laughs and romance,
Work at love, at every chance.
And when the last word is writ,
There is no more, yet to be.
Life for you did quit,
Not something faced with glee.
At the end, where do you go?
To the place you were taught?
To some distant god’s château?
No. Not there. You are not.
Your Book of Life, a mere spark,
‘Twixt bookends of eternal dark.
This poem is also on Vimeo
Runs 3:39
https://vimeo.com/432650832
It is difficult for us to grasp before our life, we were not. We have a precious time called life to savor love and lust. When our final day comes, we return to where we weren’t.
Make each day a delight.
