laughter like bubbles
on a sunny sunday
afternoon with
a girl in my
bed who's not my
own, while beautiful
women like banshees
croon to me in this
zombie like state of
life without love and
a love with a life of
its own.

he's eyes like dead stones;
they've seen too much
to be still alive and
life's too short to burn it
in an instant, to flash
against the vast dark
of time and space in
a soundless echo
among a million
others who barely
take notice. life should
be the long burning
of beauty against a
universe of grey. it
should be the soft taste
of her kiss long into
the night and her
tender caress in the
morning. life should be
the sweet turning
of leaves as the weather
grows quietly cold and
fades unnoticed into
the familiar embrace
of winter. life should
be long talks with
friends in which the
secrets of life peek
in and out of our words.
life should be all these
things, but it is not
unless we make it so.

so toil, toil lovers of
life, to grow a garden
grand. love life and
fight the grey of despair
until time consumes
you with your smile.

AcB 7.13.99