Life is not the sum of our parts
In death we still have our brain, our heart
Nay, tis a hallowed, scarlet, filament
that consumes our life
It glows with use, with effort, with strife
For good or ill it burns away
In use or disuse it approaches decay
All have a measure of this pow'r
Nothing delays the inevitable hour
Waste not your time O man,
to meditate on a mountaintop
Tarry not with lore of karmic harmony,
crystal orbs or ink blots
Life is no wheel, 'tis a spiral
Numbered are your days, finite, final
Simply live with honor, not by morals from rote
Powered by your heart's filament 'neath your undercoat
Keats
29 October 2010
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