The book of life is perennial as the stars.
Patterns, haunting our every move.
Our world is volatility, in essence.
Keep a lid on it, shish don’t tell!
Hell no! this life is no thrill ride.
But it’s all we have.
Self-preservation is ingrained.
It’s ok when other people do the dying.
On the news it’s them not us.
Chop her with a panger.
Strange I cannot feel her pian.
Compassion is all I have to give.
tides are coming and going.
Life dribbles on and on, you got to fit in
