Animate matter, we all call it life,
Now needed, and wanted, we call it the prize,
That sits on the cusp of eternity,
Hands clasped demurely, all soft in the breeze of
Resounding echoes, grown large with the ease
Of chasing dark shadows, that gradually freeze.
Particular places seem full of this thing,
Of vital, strong motion, all needing to bring so
Many together, that seek, like themselves,
Old and new friendships, where all laughter dwells.
Resounding around all the halls, we seek out,
Perhaps in mistaken desire, we peek out
Haltingly, true, at all things that we strive,
In living this life, before hope was alive.
Soaking up atmospheres, both grave and bold,
And seeking to understand all that is old.
Though given that all of us hope to live life,
Is that why God gave young Adam a wife?
Or is it that we hate to think of our fate?
Never give up, know it’s never too late!
Written 11/01/2009.
The Night Owl 