Here’s to Life

(With thanks to Artie Butler and Phyllis Molinary)

When did my life become a marathon endurance contest; 
when did stubborn existence become a goal?

How does one get anything done when in constant slow-mo; 
worse yet… running backwards and in place?

Wasn't it supposed to get better with age; 
less clawing and struggling to remain one’s self?

Wasn't the promise of age one of freedom and calm; 
being, living, doing, enjoying, and not just subsisting?

How do we make living more than just being present during our own span; 
to actually participate in our minutes, hours, and days?
What does one have to do to outwit entropy; 
when do we get to do, to be, to live?

Ronda R. Scott-Marak
© 29 October 2015

'Here's to Life"

Value versus Price

(for Yitzhak)

If we had unlimited opportunities to spend on life
would we still choose to disburse death?

If we could opt for beauty, health, happiness, and peace
would we still decide to select ugliness, ill will, destruction, and war?

Why is there always time and resources for hate;
acceptance of greed, rage, ruin and devastation
but no patience for charity, tranquillity, renaissance, or goodwill?

How has humankind managed to survive
while continually destroying itself and its surroundings?

How much longer can avarice and fury be satiated with entropy and death
without ever nurturing wonder and life?

When can the sound of music drown out the guns of war,
the scent of nature surpass the smell of blood,
the green of new shoots overtake the memorial poppies?

Ronda R. Scott-Marak
© 20 October 2015

Sweet Dreams are Made of This:

(with thanks to Annie Lennox and Dave Stewart)

Deep within sleep, one can find safety or fear,
pleasure or pain, memory or loss.

Sleep can comfort, caress, disturb or delight
prod or poke, swaddle or drown.

Slumber can clarify or confuse, cause damage or heal,
energise or de-tense, teach or defeat.

In dreams we remember, re-join, and resolve;
our subconscious refreshed and restored.

With sleep we repair, we revive, we grow;
without it we wither, we diminish, we die.

Ronda R. Scott-Marak
© 29 September 2015