borrowed time

on any given day
many pass away
one hundred ninety-two thousand
perhaps shall pass today

our spheroid village smaller
fifty years ago they say
sixty-eight thousand
people passed away

some so young
some had aged
all could not stay
called, bravely left the fray

a famous four
Huxley, A. L.
Kennedy, J. F.
Tippit, J. D.
Lewis, C. S.

such great renown
these fabled four
yet sixty-eight thousand
that day had fallen

no matter the life
of joy and strife
those who give
and those who take

we like to own
the souls of fame
let us honor them
yet… not others the same?

God bless the souls
of all who departed
of all who live
and those yet to come

in retrospect
had once i mused
what if as they left
i had been infused

a childish thought
but then again
we like to own
the souls of fame

to let go is pain
through that tunnel
of grief and disbelief
gone before their time

even those we never knew
to fame’s memory we cling
not knowing what morning
our own end shall bring

but whose time
passes perfectly planned
we know not when
or how we go

and neither know we
truly when or whence we came
fame and folly bound the same
from a prior he or she

rain forms ripples in the pond
like liquid stones they fall
echoing in time’s vast ocean
bouncing back as you and me

unconstrained by time
we all are one
cut from the cloth
of long dead suns

of stardust and of child’s dreams
connecting dots and sewing seams
i wondered if i was of their cloth
mother said my math was off

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About Brad Werner

Technical Evangelist
This entry was posted in poetry and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

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