SPIRITS ON THE WIND


I wake to a morning full of the air of yesterday,
Not content in the job I have to do
Reclaiming the temporary habitats of man
Participating in the chit chat
Conforming in a world of fate and destiny
one works and works and dreams and dreams
And in doing so ends up at that fateful day
when death takes it all away
Nothing left for posterity but warmless bones
And an inscription that reads "Here lies ..."
Erected by those he left behind on a piece of rock, insignificant
On a planet made of that durable stone
And if left alone it's message reads into eternity
With a ghost chasing spirits on the wind.

Author John O'B