Begins With A Question

Life is not a simple flow of time

 A lived experience

a taste of beauty

then taken away

Is there enjoyment in being immortal

though everything you touch is not permanent

a statue, a stone, unlike a snowflake

everyone will pass away

and you remain

immortal, you,alone

with all your elaborate memories.

Can we still ask

and live life’s hard question

or remain submerged in modern angst?

Or are we waiting like a jar

to fall into fragments on the floor?

Or do we bloom for each other on virtual reality?

In the reddening sun

we should not be content

just to be alive.

note: I finished reading the book, Paris in the Present Tense by Mark Helprin. About time, art and life and love.

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