Women of age

 

A woman of age popped in last night.

The garden had become wet, might

this gardener – willing yet weak – plane seeds

into where nothing grows, not even weeds.

 

For this aged garden, has become barren.

No amount of passion nor patient caren

will be able to make life sprout or grow.

This the garden and gardener doth know.

 

that when sweet seeds – needs – are sown,

reality comes to light and all is known.

They will come to an end without fertilization.

This awareness, this knowledge, their realization,

 

that life’s true meaning has ended – procreation,

a dead issue, has become life’s - no perpetuation –

meaning for these tired, aged, lost souls

who’s time has stilled, it no longer  flows

from this garden, yet this gardener doth strain

for what will remain - their immortality never again

from them to create a new – life’s force to remain.

No longer will they provide new souls for this plane.

 

From these two, never a story to be told

for they travel down a different road.

Each, on a separate journey, to end

their days, do they, still call each, friend ?

 

There are so many ideas, points of view, thought

about life’s meaning, so what is it ?, that is taught

by the lessons we have learn ?, the wars fought

that have brought us closer, yet maybe not

 

to the understanding of mankind’s existence,

the meaning of humanity ?, or its relevance

to the world we live on, continue destroying.

We are but a disease ?, a virus ?, reaching out, deploying.

B. J. “A ” 2

February 26^th 2006