Rat Race

She lived as she had died -

Quietly. So silently she slipped

Away. And only one cried -

From guilt more than loving,

The lying man she'd loved.

Run the little rat race -

Run. Pitter, patter, haste,

When the wheel's broken

Fix another in its place.

There is a violent

Emptiness. That lingers deep

Within. As if life is still -

Waiting - to begin.

We are dusted with

Time. Past into the mind.

Here now - but left behind.

At some other corner

Of the maze, confined.

Death is not tragedy -

Only a final release,

Life is what is tragic

And the aftermath - peace.