Age cannot be repaired, nor decay undone.
We are none of us Gods.
It’s no use asking.
I will die; and so will you.
Most of us dissolve into death, free at last to wed the oblivion we have courted all our lives. She is a forgiving wife.
But some of us live longer than our bodies do.
So much striving against the grammar of life.
So much laughter; and so much anger;
So many of us left to grieve.
Here’s to the old man we loved to hate.
He won’t live forever, but he will have had a good crack at it.
It is only what he would have expected.
7 comments:
*Most of us dissolve into death, free at last to wed the oblivion we have courted all our lives. She is a forgiving wife.*
this is beautiful...
its one of those things..
i write like this sometimes...
sometimes...
for no reason.
does yours have a reason?
@purpleshunshinethings: thanks a lot, and yeah, it is one of those things...
@Xiamaze: I have a reason. Someone I know died. He was near seventy.
He was a pompous old man, but he always tried to do what was right for us.
perhaps. The thing is, we dont know.
"For in that sleep of death what dreams may come... must give us pause."
hmmm.
its funny how talking about your own death can make you feel better..at times.
Most of us dissolve into death, free at last to wed the oblivion we have courted all our lives. She is a forgiving wife.*
this really is a very nice line.
I guess, mercuryshadow.
If you talk enough about death, maybe the bogeyman cant come get you...
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