Mortality Beckons

Speaks out loud

little warning but certainly a presence

asking for names,

always another receptive person

to bear the blame of leaving too soon.


Take a closer look

for in the morning,

the afternoon after a game,

just when we think …

that conversation suddenly lasts.


He wanted the world to know,

even when we fought words,

still the stubborn reality of time,

would make allowance,

for final utterances, final moments.


What happens to the fight

when everyone loses time,

desire, opportunity, when the least

important aspect of love,

is suddenly is left for all the mourners.


We live, we laugh,

we carry on,

we decide upon virtue,

we land on an ideal,

yet mortality always knows why.


A Lost Life

When I think about what to say,

I wonder sometimes if I’d have my way,

In a society that suggests we succeed

I wonder sometimes whose advice I heed.

A childhood friend of mind died today

I wonder sometimes if I’m in the way.


He lived his life spreading a certain wealth

Not at all the sort that merits charms stealth

Instead his words, his eyes, his spirit held

Not at all the sort of ill-found materials felled.

He died without notice, a sort of a calling

Not at all like the sort wants to be found falling.


I lost a friend today, perhaps a name from childhood

If I could try again I wonder if my life be a solid wood.