No matter what I create,
it will decay and pass away.
No gate, no wall, no prison.
No work, no child, no art.
None will survive time.
It isn't what I create.
It's the creating of what I create.
Another reason to pay attention.
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The Purpose of Literature
Words we shape to sing
Burn candles in paper boats
That drift between us.
[Disposable Haiky June 7, 2012]
Dr. Mike
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