we therefore commit…

we therefore commit

soon
you will be
no more
than
particles
of
existence
so
easily
filtered
from
memory
oh
those
promises
of
dust
to
dust
are quite
exaggerated
since
dust
leaves
a remnant
on
the surface
of
life
but
like everyone
before
you
you
will become
a fleeting pattern
in
morning’s light
squeezed
between
the blinds
as
rays
of
yesterday
mingled
with
thousands
of
lives
transient
patterns
revealing
lives
long gone
but
are
quickly
concealed
by
the
bright light
of
a
new day

 

 

innocent bystanders…

innocent bystanders

many people die
as
life victims
outpatients 
in
an unsympathetic void
where
the affairs of life
are rewarded
like a pet
receiving a treat
for
good behavior
whose mourners
celebrate
but
who’s celebrated
never
joined
the party

 

 

osmosis…

osmosis

death
has no memory
so
victims
become
murders
killing in the same way
as
their own martyrs
were
slaughtered
and
for 
the same reasons
oppression
to gain advantage
and
to rule others
someone
must
always
be underfoot
to
support
the weight
of
man’s madness

self-delusion…

can your recall
their names
those
people
you called
lifelong friends
can you
recall their
face
their voice
the warmness
of
their touch
oh
it’s not a crime
if
you can’t
but
it’s
a reminder
you
will be
forgotten

 

viewing the dead…

december 2000
it was
a rather
strange part
of a bike tour
a mandatory viewing
of
uncle ho
where
we
in
a single file
walked solemnly
around
his glass enclosed
preserved
body
soldiers
assured
that there would be
no
photos
or
talking
it seemed
obvious
that
his true memorial
was not
within
those walls
but
outside
in the laugher
of
the school children
who
never had experienced
war
they
had moved on
from
the past
that day
made me
realize
that
we all
frequently
view the dead
whether
or
not
we want
to
admit to it
it might be
an old friend
or
a loved one
or
perhaps
just a moment
in
time
you know
that special memory
that
we
must view
over
and
over
again
a viewing
that keeps us bound
to
yesterday
and
unable to move on
to
the rest
of
life’s tour

 

the library…

one life to a book
collections of short stories
all first editions
once a book has been removed
just a few are remembered
most are forgotten
their spaces are soon refilled
with newer copies
dusty historical books
the only remnants of souls

 

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