Ron: Half of this poem is illegable.
Lex: It doesn't matter: soon enough all of it will be that way.
Ron: You know, I hate it when people become dead while living.
This is often happens when they get exposed to too much metaphysical crap. . .

Ocean Reflections
Surrounded by emerald-blue immensities 
crashing in flurries of foam 
the ocean follows majestic rhythms 
and synchronies. 
	Death is that way too. 
Even after leaving all primal waters 
our consciousness waxes and wanes
thoughts appear like beachside froth
and a rhythmic roar inside of us 
suggests the sea is not far away. . . 

	Nor is the Grim Reaper 
	who moves with the tide each day.
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Copyright (c) 1996, 2006 by T Newfields
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