Time
When all is said and all is done
and when the race is over,
Will we be happy that we’ve run?
Will we wish to do it over?
Time marches on without a care
about what we are doing.
It bothers not with when or where
or what trouble is ensuing.
We may be bored; we may be stressed.
We may be steeped in sorrow
But time keeps plodding as if pressed
to reach the next tomorrow.
If in the end we have regret
for the things we didn’t do
we’ll be reminded if we forget
that there’s no use to rue
the time that’s gone will not return
and useless are excuses.
For if nothing else we learn,
know time bears no abuses.
Every second, minute, hour
is the same to every man.
It is within each person’s power
to do with as she can.
Life
Life is too short to be little
Life is too dear to deny
Life is too precious to squander
By living an emotional lie.
Follow your heart, find your center
Leave conformity and pretense alone
Be only yourself when you enter
Live a life that is truly your own.
Be not afraid of your feelings
It’s really okay to cry
Express the indignation inside you
Be honest with life ‘til you die.
Don’t assume to make other’s decisions
Nor let others make choices for you.
Do what for you is important
And unto thine own self be true.
Death
A woman died today.
Suddenly
unexpectedly
without notice.
A man lost his wife today
Suddenly
unexpectedly
without notice.
Parents lost their only daughter today
Suddenly
unexpectedly
without notice.
It challenges my belief
About mind
Over matter
Willful control.
I thought the mind
Always leads
Body follows.
Not so.
It makes death sadder
that I know
it can happen
against one’s will.
I’m sad for the woman
Who died
her husband
and parents
I feel my own mortality
For a moment
disappointed
betrayed.
My belief, though juvenile
and subconscious
was pervasive
my own.
2 comments:
Janet...these are your poems? Wonderful exploration of how life is impermanent and fleeting.
Love the photo of the iris. One of my mother's favorite flowers. They don't last long, but have a marvelous scent.
Janet Riehl
Thank you, Janet.
I'm glad you like my poems. That's a great compliment from an accomplished poetess. I'll tell Stan you like his flower photo.
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