A poem about life and death, and living in the moment. |
THREE HUNDRED AND SIXTY DEGREES When the metaphorical wheel of time turns 360 degrees so does the banquet of death linger resonating like a tuning fork held captive to unbidden thoughts. Like stringy bark, our soft inviting flesh ebbs and flows into a carbonised cycle of underground mesh. \ When the metaphorical wheel of time turns 360 degrees it chastises our eventual demise, a biographical excerpt, an epilogue to our tenure, a passing fad to those who thought they knew us. There's nothing left but the now to take abreast of every wavering moment that comes our way before the metaphorical wheel of time turns 360 degrees and we grind to a shuddering halt. ? Lennard Mechlowski |