History

History is an unforgiving beast,
claiming the identities of all.
Stealing away those who have lived
and locking them in her vault.

For when a man dies - as surely man does -
it becomes only a matter of time
and numerous generations past
before not a soul knows them true.

A name surely lives on,
feats and deeds, too.
But who they truly were?
Not anyone can say.

Fret not about your life, then,
lest you be remembered as a 'fretter'.
For in time all men die,
whisked away by History.

The Loving Whore

Lying on her back
while a stranger,
heavy, sweaty,
pumps away.

He thinks hard
of macabre images,
trying to stay
his sad 3-incher.

She thinks, too,
of home, a son,
food he must eat,
clothes he must wear.

She is many things,
a whore, a mother,
a working woman,
an AIDS carrier.

What, then, is right?
Adoption? Foster home?
If she loves her child,
should she roll over and die?

You know those people that are just "born to do something"? That in their younger years find a passion or talent for something and go with it until the day they die?

How about those who always have things go their way? They meet someone they love at a young age, marry them, have jobs that make good money and raise their own kids?

Some people start something and never finish it until it's done. No matter how many years it takes. No matter the struggle and hardships.

Others live lives of excitement. They never stop for anything in particular, whether it be a person they love or a job opportunity they'd have to be crazy to pass up. They have to keep moving because it makes them feel alive.

You know those types of people?

I'm not one of them.

And I guess most people aren't, but I still envy them.

I am a floater, drifting through space, waiting for something to crash in to me. I'd like to think it's long overdue.

New Web site

http://veloxfabula.blogspot.com/

I may continue to post here from time to time.