Like dust on a 3 year old car – never been washed;
Like the scent of a sunny morning after years of rain;
Like yourself fifty years ago: teethful, heartful, hurtless
Like the wave that washed away your fears;
And the winds that wiped off your tears;
Like that smile you hid when you knew it was home;
And the pain you concealed so no one could see inside;
Like that birthday cake no one ate;
And that birthday present you never received;
Like that cold morning when you had to leave bed:
And fight against odds and lose the bet.
Like yourself seven years from now:
Lonely, probably in the grave
Of life. Again, trying to fight your way through.
And you lose a couple of times,
And a couple more,
Yet something tells you:
It’s time:
To die. To seed. To grow.
To be.


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