Saturday, March 30, 2013


The days go by – and then the years.
They're dappled with our smiles and tears.
We're born to live awhile and die,
Yet some presume to question why.

They ask, at birthing, with a wail –
And all through life, to no avail –
And even with their final sigh
They question why we live and die.

But none has found, in any season,
For birth and death, a cause or reason –
And yet, without that answer why,
It seems that life's a pointless lie.

So some surrender to their fate
Or find their drives in love or hate.
But even these, when children die –
They raise their arms to the watching sky.

How precious is the fleeting now!
To hold it still, we don't know how.
So past and future feed the lie,
As we, our transience, deny.

2013 March 30th, Sat.


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