Time Has Been Called

selective focus photography of red rose

Photo by Kristina Paukshtite on Pexels.com

Oh, yes I’ve seen
Those fields of green, 
And I have kissed down Lovers’ Lane. 
And to my cost
I’ve loved and lost;
On oceans tossed I’ve  bled in pain. 

My heart’s been wrenched, 
My spirit quenched, 
As I have striven a soul to win. 
But to what end
Did I offend, 
What cause had I to sin? 

And now at last
All chance has passed;
No future can I see. 
For time is up, 
Life’s bitter cup
Has passed from you to me.

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The Meaning Of Life 

 

The Meaning Of Life

Author Unknown

LIFE MEANS WHATEVER YOU MAKE IT MEAN . . .

I must determine for myself what my life means and must seek to bring it to fruition

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THE MEANING OF LIFE

The friend I lost today,
the ant I trod on yesterday,
both no longer quick
but now sharing death.

How similar
yet how different.
‘How sad the world without them’
says God
‘How disparate’, say I,
if I care to say anything at all.

God and Nature, merge their significance,
their world view equalising loss,
while I, bereft, forlorn,
am led to grieve for one
but not the other.

Significance holds prominence,
for Nature must consider all loss notable
but necessary,
whereas,
living in different time scales,
our individual lives
serve only our own time frame,
our personal connections
pointing to meaning
and giving resonance
and substance
to each separate life.

As the axe I take to the log,
the knife to my steak,
my boot to the beetle’s innocence,
and as I pluck yet another rose,
so ends my hold on life,
for ever compromised.

So I am left with
how, in nature’s sight,
meaning lies only with
the recurring cycle,

but in my heart
my hurt is not diminished,
my mourning
is just mine to feel.

 

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