walk on part in the tragedy of irrelevance...
another non-event complete.
the 10th in the series of "life in the arena of survived by".
i too will usher in members to the not so exclusive club when my time comes to depart.
no remorse. no regret. the goodbyes relevant to exit of this day's namesake occurred decades before the final breath. i somehow feel a similar absence of pomp and circumstance. while grateful for the allowance of communication - by any means - realizing the status change from priority to obligation is difficult at best.
oh well.
life goes on.
perhaps i will be allowed access to the room of tomorrow.
another day after in an endless routine of same...
days dissolve into puddles of our past.
if tomorrow comes, perhaps we will learn to maneuver around the chasms.
and ever so often, find bridges still intact. unblemished from the fires of regret...
then.
now.
segregation of time -
collectively contained within the confines of our existence.
regardless the magnitude of desire -
the appropriation of intent -
our tenure in the halls of is fades.
what of it -
then,
agendas written to define autonomy over possibly?
while vividly drawn on parchments of presume,
they fade like watercolor in the rain.
ubiquitous as assumptions of priority -
misread lines from one-act plays of suppose...
the 10th in the series of "life in the arena of survived by".
i too will usher in members to the not so exclusive club when my time comes to depart.
no remorse. no regret. the goodbyes relevant to exit of this day's namesake occurred decades before the final breath. i somehow feel a similar absence of pomp and circumstance. while grateful for the allowance of communication - by any means - realizing the status change from priority to obligation is difficult at best.
oh well.
life goes on.
perhaps i will be allowed access to the room of tomorrow.
another day after in an endless routine of same...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tuesday, June 19, 2018
all too soon - the midnight hour.days dissolve into puddles of our past.
if tomorrow comes, perhaps we will learn to maneuver around the chasms.
and ever so often, find bridges still intact. unblemished from the fires of regret...
on parchments of presume
then.
now.
segregation of time -
collectively contained within the confines of our existence.
regardless the magnitude of desire -
the appropriation of intent -
our tenure in the halls of is fades.
what of it -
then,
agendas written to define autonomy over possibly?
while vividly drawn on parchments of presume,
they fade like watercolor in the rain.
ubiquitous as assumptions of priority -
misread lines from one-act plays of suppose...
