Out Of Mind Poem by Edwina Reizer
Out Of Mind
We die a little bit every day
but never start to mourn.
We're so intent on all the living
that we do from when we're born.
But life is a fleeting second that ticks
and mourning is too sad.
So we meet the future forgetting the tick
that will stop the life we've had.
Saturday, August 28, 2010
Topic(s) of this poem: future,sad
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8/29/2026 2:57:45 PM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
