Grey matter. Synapses firing
Trying to assemble the meaning of being.
Life random
The things gathered in our lifetime
Days and nights filled
Not so much why am I here
As it is why are you
By extrapolation
Each of us
A circle of influence in others' livers
Are we not, therefore,
All the more valuable to one another?
Family is given, an act of birth
Friends and lovers, on the other hand,
Are somehow chosen
From the pool of humanity in which we swim
Even years apart can not shred the warmth of familiarity
When old friends meet.
A good life is filled
With a cast of characters
Psychic links vibrating the spirit
Like a fly shakes the spider's web
The mind springing to alertness in the dark of night
Or resting pensive and still as arctic noon air
Your pain, I feel,
Across unmeasured units of time and space
The joy, not so much.
Sending prayers and
Warm waves of healing
In lieu of my touch
No comments:
Post a Comment