Dead Things




Walking brings on thinking.
Why do I stop to observe dead things?
Because of curiosity, foremost. What is this, what was this, how came it here?
Claw scrabble, infirmity? Questions, clues.
Curiosity, foremost.
But under that, imbued into that, a tenderness.
Here is a relic of a life story all told.
‘The End.’
No more breaths, and yet?
Yet more: that thing is not devoid of energy.
It exists, physically. The physical world is made of energy.
That connection holds. 



Comments

Dixie@dcrelief said…
That energy unites us all - that's why we feel tenderness with a loss of even the tiniest of life.(smile)
30 January 2015 at 02:42
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