in time, in a room
alone with a life that is so strange
and always needs a reason.
Wanting to do more, to make a mark
upon the minds of men who
wish to find themselves, and
if they share my moments, touch
what I have left, then they may live
with me, accept my words, look
through all obstacles to be nearer
joy or whatever really works.
And if we can be friends
then let us sit in simple light
and talk about the way
that we found love. If there be
something beyond all this then
perhaps all we learn will serve
an even grater purpose. Death
must not be sad, it is like entering
a mystery I should think. Energy
remains and ideas we made
will dance in the night and
filter into other minds. Somehow
comforting to think of that beynd,
- we can't accept nothingness,
each man so futile in the vast spase
but like a world as living being.
Dying every minute in the living world,
looking for purpose not just existence
and we must make purpose, link
it with mystery, the higher mystery,
and its all in the head, confusion,
going back, the past, theme of time.