Life Preserved in Word

  If my glass is halfway, where is the other half? Has it already been consumed, or is it yet to be? If the taste and the smell is bitter and rancid The contents are soon discarded as the glass becomes empty and  flaccid but if sublimely palatable, that seductive glass of mine becomes the ultimate temptation for me, but shall not last as the halfway point is fleeting when the bottom comes up fast.   © David Girard 25/10/20

Each day that I live takes me a step further away from infancy, and a day closer to the day I will die. Would I be remiss to reminisce when I am blue? Or should I call on the fulness of time and be placed at the head of the queue? But hold it right there. I’ve at least some time to spare. Before I vanish, I’d like to try to have good times and laugh till I cry, to bathe ‘til I’m dry, and to count all the floaters when I peer at blue skies. Every time I wake is not a mistake, but a blessing of breath to stay my death for yet another day.     © David Girard 11/10/20