“ Life ” – be but a minute –

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“ Life ”

         – be but a minute –

The journey starts

Tho moves so fast,

Seems off the chart

As conjectural cast,

Life means impart

On a short tenure,

Found is my part

In fates September,

As I a minute ark,

Will soon surrender

Seen ephemeral part,

May hold remember

A diminutive minute,

Mans unwitting enter

That is to be ones life…

 

As life be but a minute

Do pardon my rancour,

If you crowd my space

I am short of candour,

As be no time to waste

Nor room for squander,

So I’ve cause to make haste…

 

In the wake of all to die

As will prized September,

When reality need not hide

Find ye peace in fall’s slumber,

And the minute to live described

Thus as said of life, be but a minute!

 

                        © Jean-Jacques Fournier

Imagery, symbolic of depicting life…

Music, Miles Davis Ascenseur pour l’échafaud…

Wrote for audio, in Sweetsburg August 14, 2020…

“ Life ” ~ be but a minute ~

As journey’s impart

Finds  compose,

A life held chart

Of  fading echoes,

Images seek focus

On a wistful past,

As recall delves

In dormant baggage,

Where marks a start

Of minute’s living,

Which is to be our life…

 

As life be but a minute

I’ve no time left to waste,

So overlook my rancour

If you crowd my space,

Or find ye be  anchor

In my short-lived race,

Tho I sound rather terse

I’m not without candour,

So empathize my strife

For with so little time,

I’ve reason to make haste…

 

I might have shown fear

Or shed a meagre tear,

To decelerate the process

That fixed  fall’s arrival,

In the wake of all that dies

As will a prized September,

Thus with all it finds allied

Seek peace with December,

For soon you’re gone to rest

To lie neath earthen blanket,

Should minute’s life end next!

 

                                                                                    © Jean-Jacques Fournier

 

“ Life’s Time ” ~ left behind ~

In my life past,

I may have left

Some time pass,

Thus feel bereft

So precious be,

Its loss apes theft

Be sad discovery,

 One shan’t forget

Its careless waste,

Fills me with regret

For time left behind,

Thru foolish neglect

With risk ne’er find,

Be days edged lost

Has me resigned,

Demons tilt recall

Beg gives attention,

Save be offer small

Could ere well lead,

To one recovering all

With ostensible speed,

For it’s ne’er too late

To find time left behind!

 

“ The Wanderer ” ~ on solid ground ~

 

I’d drifted round

Wanting for life

On terra firma,

Tho near full span

I’ve not yet found

To understand,

The held wonders

I failed endorse,

Accepting state

Akin to vegetate,

What life abounds

There to taste,

Instead of waste

All that surrounds,

While I the wanderer          

Has not yet found,

The likely bounds

Offers but solid ground!

 

“ The Lane ” ~ dead men stalk ~

 

The lane I walk

In dead man’s land,

Is one that bands

The forlorn souls

That dead men stock,

They who trudge

Hoping to find

What’s left of time,

And so survive

Their soul gone blind,

Unsure they be alive…

 

Thus as I walk

In this non world,

And watch in vain

The suffered pain

Those souls do feel,

Who try to taste

What once was real,

That man laid waste

With insane zeal,

Yet nil a peep

From alleged sheep

To save remains,

For they but follow

Big Brother’s lane,

Who need not walk

In dead man’s land,

Where dead men stalk!

                                                                          ode to Edgar Allan Poe