Welcome Visitor: Login to the siteJoin the site

From the mid to late 1970s.

Submitted:Jan 23, 2011    Reads: 21    Comments: 0    Likes: 0   

What of your life
Is it merely borrowed,
From the mists of time?
Is your existence
Merely a rapidly fading dream?
As I know surely is mine.

I often stop to meditate
On the meaning of life,
The meaning of reality.
Is living so simple
Or so very complicated,
As we make it out to be?

Is the borrowed time
Slowly running out for us,
Is life about to fade?
Will we live another day,
Another month, another year,
Or even a decade?

Misty dreams control our hopes
Our dreams, our every thought,
Our every notion.
The sands of time
Control the way we act and move,
Our every notion.

Living has become
A mere day to day thing,
We eke out our days without fuss.
The mists of time
Are now fading fast,
Death is calling to us.

© Copyright 2011
Philip Roberts


| Email this story Email this Poetry | Add to reading list


About | News | Contact | Your Account | TheNextBigWriter | Self Publishing | Advertise

© 2013 TheNextBigWriter, LLC. All Rights Reserved. Terms under which this service is provided to you. Privacy Policy.