(22.02.2004 - 6:45 p.m.)
I can't help but find beauty in the cycle of life. In dead grass and broken, empty trees. In smiling, warm, living faces. In cool, crisp sunny mornings, when no-one else is around and you see the world in a new way. And, I think necessarily therefore, in the passing of all things. In the world moving on and leaving things behind. And in all the sadness that that passing brings. Because it's temporary nature is partly what makes life just what it is. And you can see why people say that life is a gift from some omniscient presence; why they say that it isn't really ours, just a gift given, and eventually taken away. I hope you don't mind. But it's been playing on my mind all day.
Waved my friends
Goodbye.
I sat at the desk and
Wrote a letter in
The half light.
'Dear Memory' it said,
Although I didn't notice then. I went for a drink but
But found no comfort.
The TV was my only friend
That night.
The sounds were unfamiliar
And the light was a
New shade.
I missed the stars.
Ancient reminders of
Times past.
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