Life and Death

  Yin and yang are ever present.  Sometimes reminding us of how precious life is, other times forcing us to realize how precious life is.  Every day we wake up and go about our day.  Do we ever stop and realize that everything we are doing, and I mean everything, is unnecessary and pointless.  

  You hear men talk of what they wish to acomplish before they die.  None of us dare tell that man, or ourselves for that matter, that all his goals and hopes will mean nothing when he is dead.  Every moment is fleeting and full of worth.  A second is worth more than a billion dollars cash.  And time has no refunds.

  I've spent many sleepless nights pondering my future and my death.  I've thought of every possible outcome.  Preperation?  Or control?  What do I hope to accomplish?  Many of my poems speak for me on this issue.  The problem is it's not an "issue".  It's the end of the book.  The back cover.  The thing people will look at to get a taste of what the contents inside hold.  Life is indeed a book.  You and nature are the author and illustrator(I like books with pictures).  Ask yourself.  When you're book is over, do you want people to read it, or put it back on the shelf where it will gather the eternal dust of forgotten peasants, priests, and fools.