Strides we make in life’s long journey
The things we acquire, who will own them?
When the sun sets, bringing darkness to bear
On glitzy cars, houses and fêted moments
When tints of candle light are left behind
And the eyes opened to see in silent night

Some may say, the dead have nothing
When material reality is a by-product
Of the coming and going from this world
Others may say the dead live in our recalls
Had names, and if not, just call them things
For something can not come from nothing

The dead have nothing if in nothing they came
For dying is the exit of a lonely traveler
Coming not from nothing, as an infant
Even for a few minutes, draws in air
The invigorating life force, seemingly
From nothing, yet seeking to express self