The Resting

THE RESTING The death of soul steals slowly through the years the fog of mind that's never known to be; brought on by laughter, love, and hate and tears the fate of all not one can ever see. It brings the withering of life, and all its leaves, once green and shining in the morning sun, now setting on it all, in evening grieves for lack of interest in what life has done. Compassion leaves the mind, once fired and prime and old and tired now beats the heart we knew life now mundaned by passing of all time, there's little left the heart would like to do. Our works are numbered to our final breath and rest is not until it's done in death. © ron wilson aka Vee Bdosa the doylestown poet

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Vee Bdosa

Date: 1/31/2014 7:15:00 AM

Thank you, Vicki, and you certainly are right, we simply must seize every moment we can if we expect to be the best we can be in our lifetimes. Love to you and yours, Ronnie aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown poet

Vicky Tsiluma

Date: 1/31/2014 5:04:00 AM

Powerful poem Vee! I like how well executed the theme is. 'Death...steals slowly' - it's like immediately we're born we start dying. I like how you've stated the 'rest is not until it's done in death' - reminds me of the saying it's not over until it's over. We should definitely take every opportunity to make the moments count. Very well written!