Cleaning is always an adventure for me. That’s probably I don’t do it often enough.

Anyways, I was going through the notes on my iPad and found this poem I’d written about seven years ago. I’d almost forgotten writing it.

More Than a Meant-To-Be

Everything has been said
And nothing has been done.
We are waiting here,
In the night, on the plain;
Waiting for more words.

For life and death hang
In the balance of a word.
When they give the order,
We go and don’t return.
A cold night, a cold world
Does anybody care?

And then suddenly
This madness makes sense:
We’ve a purpose here that stays
Even if the memory fades
And it waits for no man’s hate.

The day that we’re born for
Is the day that we die;
But there is more than here.

We’re more than a meant-to-be,
A memory; something that’s lost
And can’t be found again.
We’re on a tidal wave, an ocean spray
Light is here and we can see past today.

No more words, no more thought
We are here and we can do our part.

We’re more than a meant-to-be,
A memory; something that’s lost
And can’t be found again.
We’re on a tidal wave, an ocean spray,
Light is here and we can see past today.

 

In other writing news, I am 60% of the way done with the first draft of the novel I’m working on. That’s farther than I’ve ever gotten before and I fully intend to blow that record out of the water with a finished manuscript by January 15th.

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