Poem 65

old man sits down 20 years now just a breezes

and life now invites others to its circumdance*

but with his frail hands he beckons some new child

and upon their ear whispers these words true

"we are just the pawns in the great game of life,

but its only the pawns, 
that can transform, 
into what ever shape we like".

tho the child did not know his words, might

still they play sweet games to his minds delight

and did indeed play true to great game called life

until with his now frail hands he beckons some new child  





this poem was written for a very dear friend of mine and his family 

* circumdance = there is a beautiful definable pattern/beat in the fabric of life that is  based on observable chance  
for example DNA, fractal chaos theory. (i made this word up)