I hate Shadows from the past

like faded photos


through passing windows

and opened doors

while being pushed by a torrent

of time

Flotsam and Jetsam

pausing for a few moments

in the tumult


before being cast across the broad Horizon

in these moments

hours, days, weeks or years

spent with an other

or others

are real and easily lost

in the flood

Immortality is the goal

people far wiser than I say

yet in the end

massive man made monuments erode away

script scratched on paper and colors smeared on canvas


genius electro-digital memories


endless ancestors and descendants become bone

then stone

If one is lucky

we scratch and build

rave, rage and burn

In chase

of some ancient

philosophical ghost

in the end of our gasping struggle

we miss the moment

the real

as all there is



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