Somewhere in the distance, a bell tolls in the night:
the hollow clang of one a.m. defeating this endeavour,
reminding me of what I am and giving me forever
awareness of the hollow sentiment in what I write.
A pebble dropped in water starts a rippling effect
that touches shores undreamed of by the little sinking stone;
and, though it’s a truism, let the cliché still be known:
more often than you think, lives intersect.
Have peace; and if you feel my lamentations take
too grandiose a form, I beg indulgence, and more:
don’t judge me too harshly for being a shore
awash in the stone’s ever rippling wake.
As certain as the sunset and the turning tide
I know we all meet again on the other side.