Colin F. Jones


I tire of life, yet life I would not lose,
Beholden to existence I survive,
Yet who am I to tarry or to choose,
For I am by chance and not by choice alive.
I walk the roads according to life’s map,
Held in this skin around these old bones wrapped,
Each step a victory or a vain mishap,
For inside this shell called me, my soul is trapped.
Tis not essential that I live this life,
What is a grain lost from a sandy beach,
For yes my love my dear and darling wife,
You know deep down that I am out of reach.
Yet while indifferent I seem yet to be,
You know this soul survives to be with thee.