Monday, July 03, 2006

from the files

Whispering warm, soft thoughts,
The dying summer night gives way to chilly dawn,
A child's toy left lying in the yard,
Damp with the dew that’s sprinkled on the lawn.

And life goes on though people die
And leaves fall thick along the walk.
Who cares who's gone as long as I
Remain to talk and talk and talk?

Beneath the pristine blanket of the snow,
The purity of death is all that we can know
Until we rise renewed from archived files,
As lurkers read our words with patronizing smiles.

2 comments:

Paul Panella said...

Beautiful imagry in the first stanza. It sets the stage for man's spiritual motive in this new age of communication and resolves with an epitaph that underscores the accessibility of immortality on the internet and the price to be paid for its commonality.

At least that's my take.

My favorite so far.

Esav Benyamin said...

Thanks.

Life acts in two ways: first to preserve and extend itself, and second, to impress its mark on a world that doesn't really care.

The more complex life and intelligence become, the more we reach out to a larger community.

The birth of altruism: if we can't preserve ourselves forever, we can work to preserve what's most like us, and will continue after us.

Or am I just a dictionary's way of sending words out into the world?

:-)