Many divert themselves with philosophies and religions to soften the stark reality of existence, but, I think, a walk through any large cemetery will impress upon the intellect the futility of life, despite the stone longings for immortality. In the end, we are only the sum of our memories, and memory is always about something that no longer exist.

The Coliseum

Four stories filled with blood of centuries’ infamy. The sword,

A Cloud

I dreamed I was a cloud last night. Saw toy soldiers off to war, children kicking sand castles.

A Lament

Soft the music of the lute played by a tongue less wonder. A lament heard from afar strummed on spider webs for our brief descent. The ageless trees seem posed to catch the returning footfalls of some vanished love. Yet, like

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