Birth

22 Apr

Moby – 7

Birth and death coincide with one another, and today there were both. Both in the lost and found. A broken car, a lost job, and the end of one. Life is a funny thing, always cracking jokes, leering the whole way. So who says a thing lost can’t also be a birth? A lost path in these woods means a new path is tread.

I remember the quiet days of kids.
Jumping in puddles mud between my toes.
Feel the hug of red red sun on my lids.
Tin can telephone, pushed too close, cut nose.
The games we’d play with paint and with paper
I always thought life would last forever
Young full of awe, never saw it taper
Till I look back I lost all life’s fervor.
The path I took was not the one I plot.
The past filled with nothing, blind memories.
The dreams of mine were not easily got.
Fell on something not in my fantasies.
I stand and wear my pressed black two piece suit.
I do the things you think I ought to do.

image:Geert Orye

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