The Passing Years: poetry by David H. Roche

I wrote a short poem, five lines in length. I titled it: "The Passing Years."  It's a contemplation of our common mortal condition and the means necessary to achieve morality. That's how it presented itself to me. That's what I wrote about.

Unexpected pain appears for no apparent reason. Along with it the recognition that this is what you thought it would be like seems to have proven itself right. 

Aging and pain until the end.  I was an optimist. It was the best of possible outcomes that were presenting themselves what with the Ukraine and the Mid East and all that. 

The only reasonable conclusion available in the present organizational framework of  human society is the prospect of greater profits by the activity of the military industrial complex.  This activity ultimately determines our present way of life. Along with that a more fearful response to life.  

Today after hearing "Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da" by the Beatles playing on a juke box and listening to the comments of those with me who remembered the song when it was new I wrote the poem below. I remembered when it was new too. I'm probably a reluctant optimist at this point.

               The passing years are leaves

                separated from our limbs

                      shaken free 

                          and scattered

                               by the wind.  

                                                                                             (C) David H. Roche

The photograph above was taken in Fleming New York by the author

                                        Photography by 

                David H. Roche (C) 2014