My days are numbered
Time's hands whirl round the clock's dial
Soon I will be dust
This gives me some pause
Have the angels too read my words?
A slap on the wrist
Don't fancy the cold
Nor even the fires of hell
Much like "Down Under"
And when I have left
Just who will remember me?
After my last gasps
That's the snare of life
My loss is another's gain
Food for their table
Please read nothing in this as my brain is merely responding to the Whirl's prompt words
Image found at www.flickr.com
The circle of life indeed! Glad we are not to read anything into this :-)
ReplyDeleteThank you for the postcript..time does indeed click along..i hope we are all remembered in some small way..we may not deserve to be at the top of the food chain as a species but as individuals i hope we are more than table scraps..
ReplyDeleteThose who remember us, speak of us, read our work, after we have gone: that is our immortality.
ReplyDeleteI suppose it does no harm to remind ourselves that perhaps we are not as important as maybe we think we are.....and then get back to our perception of reality!
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wow, quite deep, the circle of life and who we are really and our contribution, I like your poem :)
ReplyDeleteExcellent, thought-provoking message.
ReplyDeleteI think when we reach a 'certain' age, we all have thoughts of how or even if we will be remembered.
ReplyDeleteElizabeth
Full circle of life, and beautifully written.
ReplyDeleteyes, we all seemed to go there (or close to it) with these words. nice write ~
ReplyDeleteteach us to number our days so that our hearts may be filled with wisdom.
ReplyDelete