Thursday, January 10, 2008


Nothing's lost
when life is lived
And even when it's not.
For what has passed is left for books
Or left to be forgot.

Does it really matter
if we win or if we lose?
The man who lives with what he's got
Is better than amused.

He sees the world is bound unto
A sky that flies away,
Just as the sea becomes a song
And song becomes the day.

So we too shall pass unto
The night, a mist, a dream.
Someday we too shall be forgot,
Our lives as in a stream
We pass
We fail
We love
We seem.

I wrote this in high school, and it keeps coming back to me,
a rhythm that was planted in my brain.

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