Sunday, October 2, 2011

I was in nuclear power training in 1980 when my father passed.  I wrote a couple of poems...

End of Life Criteria

like a piano tune
that starts and ends,
so is life ...

death cuts in:
a toneless key;
a nameless chord;
a sharp discontinuity ...

judgment occurs
without a moment's notice;
and on the second half
one regrets not doing
what should have been done ...

every second is judgment -
and every opportunity
affords one yet another
to correct the incorrection -
before the final hour ...
has passed.

Thoughts about judgment day

the hour actively approaches while we,
its victims, sit and wait, with folded arms,
trying to appear comfortable and carefree,
and mutually exclusive.

days pass quickly, and nights,
like the blink of an eye...
nay, the pupil's dilation...
time races to its destination
while we, in our lethargy,
approximate suspended animation.

there are no conclusions,
only the vain pleadings for another sequel,
a few more hours,
a couple more opportunities.
The rope by which we hang is long,
but the knot is sure.

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