Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

death is but a tiny part of life.

the period to a sentence.

why does a second only last a second?

should I try to extend my life

with meditation or medication?


would exercise work in lieu of religion?

and there is the matter of fragrances wilted

and loved ones unhugged and appointments abandoned.

memoirs unwritten and gardens untended.

Will they find me in old notebooks and on shreds of paper?

or logged indecipherable in hard disk eternity?


If God remembers everything and the universe is really square,

they'll have it all on tape; they'll know I was there.

I wore my Armani tuxedo with Converse treads

and never went nowhere without my hat upon my head.

Life is a caustic regimen; galaxies sprung from the hinge

and repeating themselves like drunks in the fringes of creation.


Why fear the inevitable? Death moves silent as a xerox cat

it's latent in our genes like brackets or parentheses

but it's a brief affair, a kiss and a hump

Rebirth trumps resurrection every time.

So what is the purpose,
To now youÕre here,
And next youÕre not,
If all youÕll ever do and be,
Are lost among the pages,
Of unwritten history,
Scattered like the sands of time,
Under the waves of eternity.

Reincarnation sounds sooooo redundant.
And you can only speculate at the you
that you were before you were you.
my mother seems to think that she was
Cleopatra ..... and other fatally famous females.
The Hari krishnas believe that if you like sex a lot,
you will return in your next life as a bird
Cause they screw 50 times a day!!!!!
..........Not one of them mentions an orgasm though....LOL

Provocative topic to say the least.....

Sherry

"...hard disk eternity." That's only one instance of original imagery here. I don't know how you do it. Except on rare occasions I can't keep going that long. Good reading, as is magic's response. jim

Lightning Rod wrote:If God remembers everything and the universe is really square,

they'll have it all on tape; they'll know I was there.

My rock’s not old and igneous, not new and born of fire;
my rock's not metamorphosis ascending ever higher;
my rock is simply sediment whose pastry flaky dust
redeems my life, me fossilized, from thief and moth and rust.