Thursday, June 12, 2014

There must there must be more than the dust
and sweat and blood and tears and toil
before we comet to the soil;
be more than fears when end our years,
more than brief moment cut away
a taste of life, then down we lay.
(And still I sit, and let clock tick
escape by movie, book and game.
Evade, avoid: real thought brings pain.)
Sometimes I see outside of me
to others' wrestling mortal coil,
know we will all commit to soil.
There must be rust and death unjust
but we have us and love and care
and death can't take the love we share.

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