Death?

Only man says or has said

That what is real and alive

Could be compromised

Left for dead

For how could the sky be knocked down from flight?

Or the ocean be in an instant, evaporated and dried?

Left for naught?

Not

The clothes come off, it's true

A sock, a shoe

Outworn

Overly tight

So the toes can wiggle and stretch

So freedom becomes re-known

Instead of being a dream or a scheme or a stretch

Something farfetched

For life isn't a "thing", unknown

But our force

Our stead

Our source

Our home

Risen, as the height above even the earth's four winds

Distancing farther than a thousand galaxies without end

Our Within

In continual birth

Innocence

Our truth unearthed

Thus we discover our worth

Death?

This is only scribble

Scrabbled upon the sands of time

That can shift as easily

As a leaf the slightest breeze does fan

As quickly

As an illuminating thought changes the mind

About our reality sublime

As consistency unchanged

The texture, the nature

Of our forever way

copyright @ 2007 Michael Mayer