Karma ?, Fate ?, Design ?,

Linda B. 2 .

 

A sixteen by twenty eight inch sheet of cotton

neatly folded – waiting – laying at the foot of my head,

in anticipation of passions delight, on what once was my bed.

Not to be – no good reason – as plans, passion turn rotten.

 

Rotting with doubt, as you drive on by, choose to carry on.

Not a call, not a word, then upon me it doth dawn,

that ever time – except for once – preparations made in advance

come down to – as you slip on past - I will not have a chance.

 

A chance to feel, to give, to write upon my crimson, satin cloud

the essence of what I once was, that now lay buried within a shroud.

Can it be chance ?, is it fate ?, or is it the guiding forces of design ?,

that are telling me to let it be, you are gone, leave it alone.

 

Que sara sara – what will be will be – I’ll just wait and see.

I guess there is little left ?, I should just resign,

myself to the fact that I will always be on my own,

and it is best, that I let you go, set you free.

 

B. J. “A” 2

April 4^th 2004

 

Time

 

Tomorrow is but a short, twenty fours from today.

Yet tomorrow never comes, it becomes history,

as soon as the moment passes, it lived and died,

all it could become, gone in the blink of an eye.

We stand on the razors edge and wonder ?,

what ?, laid in the sliver of light of that moment.

Souls coming souls going ?, de-ja-vu ?, psychic sight ?,

precognition ?, clairvoyance ?, meeting oneself in a mirror ?.

 

B. J. “A” 2

April 8^th 2004