The numeral 1

Someone once told me
that right before
a man dies
his
life
flashes
before his eyes.
As cliché
as the word
itself.


But I know
I’ve lived to see
far too
much
to view so easily
in a matter
of Seconds.


Life is not a car
racing through streets
as much as it is a
Train
surpassing both
Love
and
Hate.


I’ve seen flowers grow pretty pinks
and mellow yellow's
sometimes soft blues
aboard the Poison Ground.


I’ve met people who stand in
Silence
the
Presence
of a
Statue
weathering
the weather of whatever may
Grace
their Path.


But their Voices
so sweet
with the honey-dripping
resonance
of a thousand Angels
carrying on for miles
reaching
Lands
of the ancient Unknowns
the internal ears of the
Brave
both young
and old.
But mostly Whispering
secrets
to me.


Do you hear the Music?
The nostalgic cry of
forgotten
Rhymes.
In the dark of
night
a Tapestry
with patterns of
closed Doors
laid over the
Radio.
Yes, it is stored away.
Perhaps it has carried news
of a lost War
or a sunken ship.


Have I neglected the Shadows?
Forgive me, I have joined the Ignorant.
The ones who do not see
the Beauty
of another's
Soul.
The ones who have not
felt the
Stun
of their pair of
eyes
connected to those
of the
Overlooked.


On this day
that I will not date
I shall weave this Tale
into the pages
of a Journal
that may or may
never
be Read
to tell the reader
or just
something
the thoughts
etched
into every inch of my
Skull
before the torrents
of Distractions
sweep them away:


I believe a man's Life
does not flash before his eyes
in the second before he dies
but
Flashes
Before his eyes
while he
Lives.