Those close to you now,
An unknown future friend,
Who will you remember the most,
When this life, comes to an end.

Life is like A book,
Chapters change, along our way,
Along with the characters,
Those you see, every day.

Every one came into this life,
For A special reason,
We are not to judge, each other,
We all have our change, of seasons.
Tom Maxwell. ® 03/07/2007 AD

All of you is what I want
Even the parts I do not like
Even the parts that hurt.
Then at least one thing in life,
One person, will be real.

having the audacity
to accept the duality
of man, of time, of life
rather a causality
in itself
of things, of people, of emotions
you can finally let go
the loss of innocence
before you even know
not hopelessly muddled anymore
like the grey colour
in the middle of black and white
no more under the pressure
now off to where the air is fresher.

By degree I feel the present turning,
as the sun yet once more comes to rise.
Eastern sky that lightens by the minute,
as it pushes heavens starlight from the skies.

One more day upon the pathway,
of where time does bid the flow.
As if by gentle stream or sometime rapids,
and fate compels the path I come to know.

Uncounted I recall repetitions,
on so many long ago, half forgotten days.
Where relentless turning of the Earth,
would shine a light upon life's awaiting plays.

Once light that shone a wonder,
on mystery and promised dreams.
Abundant in every kind of possibility,
to overflowing like flooded streams.

The flow of fate and time,
that set love and dream out upon the flow.
Until only memory of such sunrises,
is all my heart can now hope to know.

The turning will go on forever,
and so too the coming of the light.
But even at this hour I sense the dusk,
and I can feel the closeness of the night.