For Jeff...

Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;
For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.
Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell;
And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well
And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.

John Donne

My Emerald Christmas Tree

My Christmas tree has
only green lights; not
through planning on my part
but through fate’s loving hand

The Christmas tree looks
At me
Through emerald lenses

I am bathed in green light:
The smile on my face,
The twinkle of my eyes,
is reflected in
Green ornament balls
And the garlands of time

I fly away in a green rainbow
To places only I have seen
Inside my emerald Christmas tree

Utopia is an individual
Experience
Which is why it is so
Difficult to visit
through means common to all

By Homeless with a Laptop, That is My Name