Wednesday, November 21, 2012


We may think about death
as we live
and as we die
think about life

When we may take life for granted while living
we enjoy it while dying
and the ones we love
seem so longed for now

We may walk into the garden
and hear the music never heard before
and enjoy the wind more than usual
grazing through our hair

Slowly things pass
never to return exactly alike
with its predecessor  
and we wander the small forest trail

So where is the hope
as we step onward on the ragged stones
uncovering sharp obsidian and sweet flowers
and do not know when it will end? 

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