THE QUIET FRUIT
Crimson beckons from the fruit.
Creation.
This barren place we call the aqueduct.
Where the dreams and detritus of life have pooled.
Shattered and broken.
Tormented by possibility.
Shielded by a life full of want.
Dreams die and fly with time.
Life goes along by rhythm and rhyme.
The will has power over all.
Death in the end sublime.
The freeing force that comes to one and all.
Rich and poor all must fall.
In due time our imprint kept on the vellum of heavens wall.
Distinct and true we live and die.
Quiet and regret for those who don't try.
In those moments few, when choice is near.
When we rise and fall with deeds amid hope and fear.
Only at times end our minds dulled by age,
Is the souls vision truly clear.
The spirit left to rage.
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