Robert M Smith


Rhythms Of Life - Poem by Robert M Smith

He ran his fingers through his hair
It felt as if it was still there
Fingering his mustache he contemplated
Life as a dead man reduced to a soul rated
By every religion he had not joined
What must he now do to be be a newly minted coin
Life and death are equally difficult he thought
We can't shop and think about what we have bought
Life presents itself so improbably
Death can be the same way more than likely
O well must head off to work for another day
Just as well I get paid today
The cycles we go thorough to move along
It is called the rhythms of life that belong.

Topic(s) of this poem: life


Comments about Rhythms Of Life by Robert M Smith

  • Rose Marie Juan-austinRose Marie Juan-austin (2/18/2020 10:35:00 PM)

    An excellent write with a great title.
    Wonderful thoughts and perception.
    Beautifully crafted with superb imagery.
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  • Kesav EaswaranKesav Easwaran (2/18/2020 7:43:00 AM)

    'Life presents itself so improbably
    Death can be the same way more than likely'

    Nice lines. Sensible perception. Good poem
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  • Geeta Radhakrishna MenonGeeta Radhakrishna Menon (2/16/2020 7:33:00 AM)

    Dear Robert, Good to see you back.
    Everything in our life is a rhythm - the movement from life to death.
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Poem Submitted: Friday, February 14, 2020

Poem Edited: Friday, February 14, 2020


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