poetry

Riding The Reaper

we drive today on friday the thirteen toward that eternal battle between life and death, hoping against hope for good news good friendship good times even if they could be the last. i have never faced death myself, though he teased me once with a glimpse many years ago as our car spun around and slammed into a ditch. he has taunted me many times hence by plucking the ones i love from my life…

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poetry

Reincarnate

the night has a thousand voices and though their languages may all be different their meaning is the same. nothing is truly alone for all is connected, bonded for life and even after, for nothing ever really disappears. our molecules, our atoms combine, break apart, and combine again as something new, something different, shifting phases of existence. it is most literally a circle of life, continually turning, and ever changing.

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