PASS THE BATON.
What we thought is not what we did.
What we felt is what made us what we are.
The leaf that blew in the passing gust of wind
The tree that fell; all rotten from within.
A lake that stood, waiting for time to recognize it.
Shielding its secrets yet not losing its calm
A river that flowed always indiscriminate
The debris, the flotsam all carried along.
A line was drawn and no one did question
But the common man as to where he did belong.
Death comes in a trice, life takes many hours
The pain unsurpassed but the joy that it brings
Makes memories short and years that are blessed.
But change is change and there can be no gain
If we don’t look and see what we lost to be made.
A golden hue, a touch of steel
Progress does have its appeal.
In all the din a banshee screams
A body lost has no price
Mortality abates and is a sad compromise.
The cohort moves it has to think
A scalpel in a surgeons hand cuts to revive
Sometimes though the price is too high.
To stand, to move, to watch, to stay.
The past binds but it is not here to prey.
The wheel turns, change is our destiny
The direction it turns is what is up to you and me.