To Life Death,
Lacking sleep, food, and will I am
coaxed into movement by the soft voice of life.
My oft-cited realms of self-persistence
croon lullabies to my own resistance.
Quelling its deference to you and
prolonging its sleep.
Moss betrothed to rock I walk the night
overlooking the light of a valley.
Green machines of nature fester and multiply to encapsulate the echoes of man
suffocated by his own hand.
Hand in hand with death, I look out over the scope of reality;
the beauty, the futility.
How subtle the glow of life eluding my home,
yet standing in front of me here.
To walk on to the stage of nature and sing its swan song
as it all comes to an end.
My friend, it is only a matter of time before the curtain will drop
and the light will blacken
all mirrors that may reflect my mind.
To lay in the valley of the coddling festivity of existence.
Too short is my time here, but too long is it elsewhere.
To fall is to die and to die is to end the beauty
that life can provide.
Nature incarnate in the trees, the grass;
lost are our stiffened sentences
and stiffened are our ornate glances.
We assign beauty yet no sense of place.
We wallow in the mud of constructed grace.
Thinning our skin and filling our minds
We seldom point out that we’re wasting time.
Fifty-odd years of some reality show
To sacrifice so much
to see what we know