A Matter Of Time Poem by R B Seals

Hence, Life...
Programmed to become
As mere spot on wall,
To be painted over
—Once dry—
Fated to blend in,
Never to be recognized,
Never to be realized;
To be cast nondescript,
Placed within the mundane
Irreversible plainness of
Obscurity.

Again, tradition maintained.
Quietly, Death obeisant,
Coldly meets its quota; and
Time indelible, holding no
Sentiment for the dead,
Moves on incessant,
Uncaring, undisturbed,
Unperturbed.