05-17-2013, 09:46 PM
Edit 2
The first was never meant to live in this fast world, in these harsh times.
The wheels that scarred, the piercing scream, the life that flew to death
like Destiny, in bold pursuit of what was always going to be.
He will not be at my party.
The second did not see the scythe; the silent touch, the stalking kill.
At once the rheumy, running eyes were tearful testament to time
and to the constant draw to earth, that pull of gravest gravity.
She will not be at my party.
Then hope held firm for promised years until the third stepped off the stage.
We did not know, how could we tell? We knew no reason for the loss.
She turned to say she felt unwell and faded into endless sleep.
She will not be at my party.
The price we pay for life, it seems, is by the lives of others met;
a time in joyful summer days will stretch out into years until
the debt is due and called in on the few we hold, and then they part.
They will not be at my party .
RSVP becomes a wish. We look into our book and see
the crossed out names, the struck down stars;
we sigh and try to fill a room with friends that still may be.
Will no one come to my party?
tectak
2013
Edit 1
The first was never going to live: in this new world, in these harsh times.
The wheels that scarred, the scream that pierced, the life that flew to death
like Destiny in bold pursuit of what was always going to be.
He will not be at my party.
The second did not see the scythe; the silent touch, the stalking kill.
At once the rheumy, running eyes were tearful testament to time
and to the constant draw to earth, that pull of gravest gravity.
She will not be at my party.
The hope held firm for promised years until the third stepped off the stage.
We did not know, how could we tell, we knew no reason for the loss.
She turned to say she felt unwell and faded in to deepest sleep.
She will not be at my party.
As if the price we pay for life is by the lives of others met,
a time in joyful summer days will stretch out into years until
the debt is due and called in on the few we hold, and then they part.
They will not be at my party .
RSVP becomes a wish. We look into our book and see
the crossed out names, the struck down stars;
we sigh and try to fill a room with friends that still may be.
Will no one come to my party?
tectak
2013
The first was never meant to live in this fast world, in these harsh times.
The wheels that scarred, the piercing scream, the life that flew to death
like Destiny, in bold pursuit of what was always going to be.
He will not be at my party.
The second did not see the scythe; the silent touch, the stalking kill.
At once the rheumy, running eyes were tearful testament to time
and to the constant draw to earth, that pull of gravest gravity.
She will not be at my party.
Then hope held firm for promised years until the third stepped off the stage.
We did not know, how could we tell? We knew no reason for the loss.
She turned to say she felt unwell and faded into endless sleep.
She will not be at my party.
The price we pay for life, it seems, is by the lives of others met;
a time in joyful summer days will stretch out into years until
the debt is due and called in on the few we hold, and then they part.
They will not be at my party .
RSVP becomes a wish. We look into our book and see
the crossed out names, the struck down stars;
we sigh and try to fill a room with friends that still may be.
Will no one come to my party?
tectak
2013
Edit 1
The first was never going to live: in this new world, in these harsh times.
The wheels that scarred, the scream that pierced, the life that flew to death
like Destiny in bold pursuit of what was always going to be.
He will not be at my party.
The second did not see the scythe; the silent touch, the stalking kill.
At once the rheumy, running eyes were tearful testament to time
and to the constant draw to earth, that pull of gravest gravity.
She will not be at my party.
The hope held firm for promised years until the third stepped off the stage.
We did not know, how could we tell, we knew no reason for the loss.
She turned to say she felt unwell and faded in to deepest sleep.
She will not be at my party.
As if the price we pay for life is by the lives of others met,
a time in joyful summer days will stretch out into years until
the debt is due and called in on the few we hold, and then they part.
They will not be at my party .
RSVP becomes a wish. We look into our book and see
the crossed out names, the struck down stars;
we sigh and try to fill a room with friends that still may be.
Will no one come to my party?
tectak
2013