I am aware of my own fleshy mortality,
that flying sparrows fall from the sky,
and old dogs finally lay down to die.
I am aware this prismatic life is finite,
that all iron must turn to rust,
and mountains are worn down to dust.
I am aware material hypocrisy is vain,
that gathering objects is all in jest,
and forgotten when we are laid to rest.
I am aware of the cusp of creation,
that a spirit’s fire can never dim,
and we are not forged to this life again.
I am aware that being is what I am,
that we are a momentary flicker of light,
and cosmic voyagers in the infinite night.
©2013, Donald Harbour