*************************************
time is the trolley we all ride
love is the stranger you sit beside
Death, the conductor, lets you out
at the corner of Destiny and Doubt
**************************************
The Trapdoor
life is a tale told not
by us
but about us
always expecting
always expecting death
well, it's just death
it's just DEATH
I'd like to get it
over with
already
so I'll never have
to worry about it
again
am I seriously dying?
is dying serious?
is it deleterious?
a personal or civil case
running out of time and space?
or is it more mysterious?
the curtain finally descends
house lights come up and thoughful friends
file slowly up the theatre aisles
hopefully with puns and smiles
and outward to the mist of days
in merry-making wend their ways
Better to drink unto delirium
than wonder about death's mysterium
There was a young woman of Perth
Who hoped to inherit the earth,
But at last received only
Two cats and a pony
Which disturbed that young woman of
Perth.
There was a young lady of Crete
Who walked on her hands (not her feet)
When quizzed by the town
Why she walked upside-down
She explained that her shoes were too "teet".
There was a young man from La Jolla
Who married a girl named La Toya
She gave him a scare
By braiding his hair
Which unnerved that young man from La Jolla.
Consciousness is IDENTITY like a fingerprint or voice print. Every consciousness is unique but each needs something to be conscious OF like a human body or perhaps a larger (virtual?) program (hologram?) It can be stored on a database. That's as far as I've got. I will now copy this to the Everything list.
after they found her
on the mountain
we walked in a park where a local fair
had a perfect Colorado day
we walked hand in hand
still young enough
but death changed the day
a clear overlay
on the scape of scenery
© Copyright 2-2-97 Martin A. Abramson. All rights reserved.