Some Little Thoughts

Things are born. They die. Ultimately, they decay.
Today is important. Tomorrow is gone,
Forgotten, as yesterdays promises fade from sight.
While man may die, his good deeds, bleached by time,
And acts of kindness, too oft overlaid in stone, save
Great thoughts of moment, which may live beyond the grave. 

To live, to strive, to serve the world,
Its people, rich with vanities and greed,
Their lack of caring: Known divisiveness The human trait.
Yet, sometimes, the smallest act of selflessness
Is greater, even though not completely done,
Than meaningful deeds, not considered, nor begun. 

Run with the wind, which blows hot and hard;
Fight not for its sake, only,
For greatest of all worldly harvests,
Compared with seeds of ages past, and forgot,
Pales and erodes, as iron is to rust,
For, ultimately, man will return from whence he came: To dust. 

The nothingness of man, so oft forgot,
Comes clear when, in the course of this universe,
His life means nought, compared with a stars death,
For, while he may write conceited verses
Of other worldly things, verses devoid of rhyme,
In truth, what he attempts is neither good nor even in step with time. 

Long did I seek in lengthy meditation,
Things noble, good and pure,
And, as does the idealist seek the truth,
I weep at having seen the seed die, stillborn.
I lament, inwardly, at the thought
Of leaving life, forsaking the unsung lyric: The undying message wrought.