As one ages, one spends a lot of time thinking about this and that, but mostly about death and dying, as well as questioning our purpose, our reason, for living. As, and this may be shocking for a few, as one ages one has fewer and fewer friends, or persons with whom to converse, so, to avoid being taken for crazy for talking to yourself, one tends to write poetry and prose to Me, Myself, and I, lifelong friends. The following are a couple of things that I've written....

          Dying And Death

Of dying and death,

Iʼve seen a few persons

die.

A sad ending,

to something wondrous.

Why do we have to die,

and die we must,

but,

why?

Is there a purpose for our coming and going,

or is it the whim of something unseen?

Life is a lottery at best,

a roll of the dice. Makes no matter

whether youʼve been naughty,

or nice. When

your time comes,

you simply go,

to where no one knows.

Of course you can whimper,

scream if you must, but

thereʼs no one to hear,

no one to care,

surrounded by persons

who fear that,

their time is near.

So hereʼs to dying and death,

familiar to all. A curse,

or a blessing,

a burden from birth.

Part of a process,

important it seems,

to something,

or someone, 

........unseen.

THE PRICE

I read about it every day,

the Four Horsemen at play,

wreaking havoc pain and sorrow, 

a price we pay for believing in tomorrow, and 

praying, 

hoping, 

for a better day, 

a life purposeful,

even meaningful, but

life with meaning 

is not possible, 

as life,

seemingly, 

has no meaning.

We invented Gods,

to give life purpose, but 

rules imposed,

and wars invented,

make mockery 

of a life with purpose.

Life has no purpose

no meaning, but

still we strive to give life purpose

with generation, 

after generation,

life prolonged,

endlessly searching,

for an answer.

With the answer no where in sight,

we search the darkness of the night 

for answers to our plea, and

hope that travel through the void 

will find an answer,

a meaning, 

for life.

           ~~~~~~

Thumbnail  Pencil Sketches

 

AS WE BECOME OLDER

As we become older, 

we tend to search and thrash about, 

wondering, 

the meaning, 

the purpose, 

of life. We question whether we did our best,  

and then pause to take a rest, 

and realize that it doesn’t matter, 

as life has no purpose that is our own, as 

we are but a tool, 

a means, 

for something beyond our being, 

perhaps,

a digital device, programmed 

to search for knowledge, 

to satisfy, what will 

forever, 

be unknown. 

~~~~~~~~ 

 

Probably not what you expected when you logged on to this blog site. I must tell you, however, the writing is also a part of what I've done over the years. In fact, I've published four books of poetry and ramblings, as well as a dozen art books. Should you have the time check out Blurb Publishing and search my name.

Should you find what I've written somewhat interesting then, stay tuned as in the coming weeks we'll post a few more of this and that poems and prose. In the meantime, here are a few pencil sketches that I've made over the years.