On death
The sure extinction that we travel to
And shall be lost in always. Not to be here,
Not to be anywhere,
And soon; nothing more terrible, nothing more true.
Life while you wait
Life While-You-Wait.
Performance without rehearsal.
Body without alterations.
Head without premeditation.
Maya Angelou
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise
My Country
I love a sunburnt country,
A land of sweeping plains,
Of ragged mountain ranges,
Of droughts and flooding rains.
Small Kindesses
We have so little of each other, now. So far
from tribe and fire. Only these brief moments of exchange.
I like poetry
There is the voice you can still summon at will, like your mother’s,
it will always whisper, you can’t have it all,
but there is this.
Memento Mori
Out, out, brief candle!
Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more.
The journey
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
Desiderata
You are a child of the universe,
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.