“What is human life?” I once asked my philosophy professor. I didn’t get a satisfactory answer then, and don’t have one even now.
day by day
I get up, eat, read, write
and sleep --
my mind grows grayer
with each night's dream
It is commonly believed that human life is like a blade of grass that sprouts in early spring, grows green and strong in summer, and then, as time slips by, withers in late autumn, and finally dies out in winter.
at the sun steadily
wave to me
I wave back and start writing
published in Atlas Poetica, #9, Summer 2011
(note: I just found out that this poem was published in Atlas Poetica, #9. No one notified me of this.)
A Room of My Own: Dollhouse Haiku - a dollhouse in the bay window ... foreclosure sign