Sunday, November 28, 2010

Sat. night.... Late again.

It'd difficult to sleep on my own,
to live in such close proximity
to the dying,
makes you adopt their hours.
Nights are late,
mornings start slowly.
Afternoons are long and glorious.
It's late now.
The fire settles in it's box,
a log settles into the ashes...
This is how our days go,
burning slowly to an end.
and yet our end,
like the fire in the box,
gives something greater than the sum of ourselves...
something lasting.


David said...

Hey Joe. You bring back for me the days when Gompa was in the hospital and many of us stood watch. In that time it was the hum of the computer in the room whirring to life to check in, check something...I would rather it had been logs on a fire. I am far away in miles, but we have you all in our hearts.

A. Lamb said...

I felt this. I've known this. I think you are amazing. Keep writing.