The life of a foolish man
A mans life comes to its end in flashes of reflection,
upon beams, of times light passed, into refraction.
What can one glean, what is seen, as all before, is the past.
Looking back tells a story,
in it, he knows no glory.
The mold formed, the die had been cast.
For all ( or most ) he gave only moments of pleasure
little from the depths, of the buried treasure.
The only golden moments given, came in liquid beginnings,
beginnings without any life to further enhance the journey
into the chests of ?, wombs generating the end.
Now, only memories live on, in aloneness, to fend
off the heartache, the losses, the rejections.
The game is over, there are no more innings.
With the last pitch, the ball flies into eternity.
In this life there are no more satisfactions.
This, the life of a foolish man,
who no longer can,
B. J. “A” 2
July 14th 2008