by Richard Jay Shelton
ORIGIN AND ESSENCEI love when all things cheap,The paltry, the trivial,The gratuitous,Sleep beneathThe moth covered laceLeaving the life of the mindFree to roam,Diving deepInto depths of selfBeyond the cluttered wealth of working days,Past echoes of industry and obligation,Into absence and emptinessWhere idle reflectionMirrors origin and essence.
VICTOR TIMEAh,What sighs Time does dent upon the mindAs plundering Age approaches,Shovel in hand,With which to beat upon manWho stands forewarned and complacent,His warring body and mind resigned,Vanquished,As victor TimeHun’s life’s borders,Roman no more.
MAN ISMan is a mimicOf the worldWe seeAnd try to be seenAs what we sawRather than beingJust what we are.
FATHERThe old man clings to life gripping his chairOblivious to light and all sense.Being for him is to existAll sense of self resists the least awarenessOf all his life was or might beAs he grips his chairAnd stares at airEmpty, silent, still.Activity barely stirringOr disturbing the space that surroundsThe wheelchair sitting on the ground.What tokens of lifeStill mingle in that inactive mindOnce youthful, ambitious and unkind,A strong will set upon catering feasts,Banquets in his prime,That barred all but his own strong appetiteSpreading the table with what he desired,None invited or entertainedLest they interfere with his gain,Vast plunder bereft of loveThat he fought so selfishly to acquireWithout a single enjoyment from that desire.What awareness of pleasure and joyWithin the vast world of possibilityEntertain that parasitic mindThat seems content to sit and stareDay and night within his chair?Are all his senses so dulled,So devoid of stimulants,So empty of longingThat he craves no desireOther than to not expireAnd warm the earth with his rotted flesh?Are all his needs so minuscule,His hopes so slightThat existing is to eat, sit and stareAt what occurs around his chairFulfills his requirement for life,Nothing and more of nothingThe tidy sum of days passing?How could it possibly have beenThat once he was so full of life and fire,That days and years were consumed with frantic activityPlowing a clear path for his goals,Razing to cast asideAll that stood in his way?How could it happenThat all that fireCould smolder and expire,Not even smoke from one desire?How could he embrace this vapid existence,Mere vapor in a vacuum sealed tightA circulating mist his stale gasping breath calibratesTo sustain a measured subsistence?How could he lose sight,That old conquering mercenary,Of all life has to offerAnd all that he was,Of hope and prideOf the entitled life of the dignified?Why embrace existence bereft of lifeBraced upon that chair locked in placeFearful of the menacing moment in black mourningProclaiming his last dayCarrying him awayTo the cold damp earthHe plundered with such gleeWhen all life existed for only him,His wants, his needs, his every desire?
Copyright © 2011 by Richard Jay Shelton
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