Life is a fragile gift. You will not have it long.
A vapor… A mist… A slow but steady passing of ways, until…
I saw a man two weeks ago… thin, weak and frail.
I didn’t know he was dying though.
Somehow we carry others with us down the long, quickly trodden road.
They wear heavy on the heart but bear no real weight as we go.
My hands may be empty, no burden on my back,
But I’m holding more inside me than any eye can see.
Unless you notice furrowed brows and the bend that’s in my knee.
I carry an old woman all around with me.
She smiles and laughs and repeats her words like a bird its melody.
I carry an old man… or is he young today?
He travels in time, there is no rhyme and who knows what he may say.
I carry the weight of failures fears and anxious worries and hidden tears.
I carry the cost of all that’s lost and never to be seen again.
There’s a world inside the mind… and the gut… and the soul,
Worlds I suppose,
Worlds of memories and hopes, of dreams and fears.
And all those worlds will be carried away on the mist of a vapor,
A slow but steady passing of ways, until…
-H. Louis Jones Jr