Personal

Nat King Cole

Inspired

 Tears streaming, come to life, from these brown eyes,

eyes that have been as dry as a popcorn fart,

out in the middle of some desert

and as dead as road kill on the Q. E.,

at the height of  rush hour traffic.

A heart, dead, for longer than I care to remember.

Death, dyeing are but empty words,

words that describe a process

we will never get to know.

For that brief, all inclusive, elusive, moment,

passing, like yesterday into history, into today,

today into tomorrow, tomorrow into the future.

Words that create an invisible line, a division

that we cannot see, feel, fathom, yet believe exists

as it stops, before change, and then moves on

– as I watch life, before me, pass - in all its glory,

grows, changes, gains, loses, triumphs, destroys, creates.

Reflecting upon my own life, I have to wonder ?,

how empty, meaningless, has it been, and if,

I have given nothing, will leave nothing, and if,

nothing will remain, nothing will be remembered.

B. J. “A ” 2

February 18^th 2003