Is love’s labor lost?
We all die eventu’lly,
so yes, I guess, ‘tis.

Music licks my lips.
She slowly gyrates her hips
And my heart beat skips.

I walk ‘round this town,
I see flaked gold at my feet,
childhood crumbles.

Knowing about God
is like knowing about time;
things we can not know.

Families will fall,
mountains into the ocean.
We move on again.

Concise, just a word.
Haiku is more than a poem,
lifetimes in three lines.

We wept at sadness.
We played in sun lit glory
but we all grow old.

We made life with words.
Starry Eyes and Pondered Wax
rode makeshift horses.

We spit up music
when we wore infant’s clothing.
We drink music now.