Life's Poetry

Yesterday cannot be changed

Tomorrow cannot be written

All we have is now, today

To use, to do, to live in

If this is true should we not not give

More care to how we spend it

For time once used is time now gone

We cannot apprehend it

 Who was Gary Dale Rose?

I sat on his bench today,
In a park
Facing a pond.
Just a simple concrete bench;
Rather hard,
A little cold.

He is sadly missed, it seems,
By his wife
And all his kids,
Or so says the small plaque
At my feet
Set in the stone

Do they come and sit here now
And think back,
And smile, and cry?
He was 50 when he died.
I'm 53,
So I wonder...

Who was Gary Dale Rose?

Something must be done about time.
A day ago I held my baby in my arms.
She was small and needy,
Helpless in fact.
I held her close and kept her warm.

Something must be done about time.
An hour ago I held my little girl's hand.
She was scared and uncertain,
Unsure of herself.
I held it fast and kept her safe.

Something must be done about time.
A minute ago I held my daughter to me.
She was hurt and crying,
Confused by men.
I held her tight and shared my strength.

Something must be done about time.
A second ago I held a young woman's arm.
She was tall and strong,
Full of life.
I let her go and watched her leave.

I let her go and...

I let her go.

Something must be done about time.

 It's ironic, but my lot
To discern the fine line
Between right and right,
And there, on that perfect spot,
To take my stand

Only then to find...

It's not

 I have a child and
She has dyslexia so
Success has come at
A great sacrifice

Of time...
Of money...
Of energy...
Of soul.

I often complain
How UNFAIR
To her
To me.

I have a friend and
He had a son who
Was just two when
They buried him.

I...
am silent.

That fatal on the freeway
I was two cars behind it
Was almost part of it
Trying to stop
Before
Hitting the car in front of me

How fragile is existence
This instant, now, you are here
The next, you may be gone
Leaving a crowd
Wond'ring
Will my next heartbeat be the last?

Life is a breath
A mist
A passing thought
It cannot be captured
It can only be lived
In its moment
Live yours