poem
Posted here Wednesday, October 15, 2003 at 9:26:52 AM 
WE who living die
We who living die
We do not get death correct
It is not to those who go direct
But to us who remain
To feel the pain
Of the other's oblivion
That reduces us to nothing
Crushes our ego
Dwarf's the body and its skills
Occludes from us the distant hills
The joy of refreshing
Trapped as we are in narrow regressing
Bathed in tears,
still advancing in years.
Death is a fact for the living left behind
Not those to whom it was rather kind
The sadness at their disrupted projects
Is ours, not theirs. Yet death
we like to think, is unfairly blind.
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