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Quentin didn't
by Charlie Morganthe wind drops off a cold day;
and doesn't stay to feel it.
moves on like it has some
other duty, instead of here.
we're a speck, a mote in the
vastness of the Nothing of Everything;
a blue dot to Carl, home to us.
vital specialness implied.
and today is a continuation of blends;
some yesterday, a pinch of tomorrow,
stir well, very well and let sit, covered
with the calendars of the Maya, and ours.
why should Quentin come into my office, today?
he followed my finger-que, walk this way.
a soul, young gentle soul and the wind
doesn't scare him, doesn't move him.
maybe it's the years between 18 and 63.
they do get fuzzy at some point, start
the life-death process; then reverse it.
death-from living life; this life and one more. 03/26/2010 Posted on 03/26/2010
Copyright © 2026 Charlie Morgan
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Joan Serratelli on 03/26/10 at 04:52 PM The last verse said it all.We all grow older, We remember what we want and discard the rest. It's called "revisionist history", and we're all guilty of it. Why did Quentin walk in? FATE! |
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