bop 17

whether sipping our champagne
or burying children
we are waiting for sundown
and the worms to come finish
what the clock has permitted
and has fallen upon us
whether by hands of man
or the random fates' raffle
the spectacle passes
and the sun nears horizon
we are struck by the beauty
at the moment it dances
away to be reborn
when we are forgotten
like a child we abandoned
and who found their new parents
in a land far away
or a house down the street
but still run to the window
and run down the street
looking for memories
that will have to last lifetimes
even if those are only
the flashes of seconds
and the grave, it now beckons
but we say we're unready
to give up our memories
and our plans for tomorrow
turning joy into sorrow
for the ones who survive us
and making lessons for living
by those who never knew us
but would make of our passing
more than the moment
and remember our follies
as if that's all that happened
when we were too busy living
to be watching the hourglass
and our night fell upon us
with too many things waiting
to be next through the turnstiles
and be held for a hour
while we told all our stories
that get twisted in fading
until they mean nothing
but that someone once spoke them
or something that sounded
like the words and the phrases
we thought sure would outlast us


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.

Been awhile, hasn't it, Larry?