Life is a kind of
Waiting Game
Where each must take
his Turn;
Until the time his
Number’s called
Man lives (but may
not learn).
It’s writ in
Universal Code –
The Order of the
Queue.
No need shove or
push-to-pass
By those in front of
you.
Don’t rush. Your own
appointment slot
Will come and soon
enough.
Now leave all baggage
at the door –
For you can’t bring
that stuff.
Appreciate the
Waiting Room –
You’ll find it’s vast
and wide.
Let Senses drink its
contents in –
For They make what’s
inside.
To share the Chamber,
pause awhile;
You’ll not share It again.
Each Life must leave
her Note behind
In keep of other Men.
Like Eliot sounds out
Above
My rhyme says who
goes there;
But finds another
source to Love
In Anglican unprayer.
The Calendar. The Pendulum.
The Beating Heart of
Man.
Each marks the shifts
with unique beats –
Enjoy them while you can.
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