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.
edgarone2
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