On My 40th Highschool Re-union




Like bricks of memories

that build the house we become,

shaped by the mud of Love

baked in the oven of Hope,

others carry the memory of you like mortar

defining who you are, that you cannot know.

The closer we get to the grave,

the greyer those memories become

yet those memories that remain consume all the others.

It seems a long dance that is over to soon

and leaves us in Wonder at ourselves and each other.

like a portal that once one steps through,

the world is seen in a new light,

where children wear grey masks,

of happiness or tragedy
all are detouring from birth to death

becoming signposts to each other,

signposts of Truth.