Just A Poem

You know somebody, who knows somebody, who passed... you are reminded that we all have an expiration date tattooed somewhere on our beings.  I mean, you know this, you are reminded of it every day, but sometimes the "insight" hits a little closer to home.  It's the "other shoe" that everyone carries with them, but one no-one really talks about all that much.  It can fall at anytime.  And it's big, and serious and mysterious.

You hunt for some thru-line, some narrative arc.  But sometimes, maybe always, it's just the brute fact.  Life ends.  Or morphs into something else.  So one is left with the knowledge that we have moments.  Lots of moments.  Some enjoyable, some not.  But they are our moments. And life is a collection of moments, and sometimes it hard to see if they really "add up" to anything.

You hope to come to some kind of grand culmination, or uncover some grand insight, but you wonder if that is just an unfulfilled hope...

You are born, you live, you die... it's all the in-between stuff that makes our lives our lives... it's sort of  a strange, little poem.  We are that poem.  Even if it's hard to understand what the poem really is, or means, or adds up to... it's just a poem. And it's ours...