Is it the look in the eye, of the woman with aids...
the cry of the daughter as the life of her fades...

She chooses to walk as one
though others wonder why...

Welling,brimming, fallling, trickling...
gone...

Talks of past
all times moved on...

Is it childhood that rushes by us so fast,
or death that creeps round until no longer we...

If the sun were never to rise again or the grass...
If the water collecting in the drain pipe should...

I look back at pictures and it's him i always hug.
i look at him now and how he limps...

Perfection caught for a moment in a babies eyes.
Happiness and joy at a brothers glee...