When every book has been written, and
every song has been sung, and
every path has been walked, and
every meal has been cooked, and
every season has come to an end, and
every star has burned out,
the universe will begin again.
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Replicant
If a great aunt chucks you under the chin,
Saying, “You look just like your father,”
Then where’s the soul?
I(f DNA can solve mysteries
And cells be spliced to cure cancer,
Then where’s the soul?
If Alzheimer’s erases memory
And nobody knows you when you visit,
Then where’s the soul?
Echo, oh echo, please be
Not my own voice alone,
But somebody else’s.
{Disposable Poem September 12, 2009]
Dr. Mike
Or maybe nothing ever ends; it simply folds back on itself and thereby seems new.
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