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