Still LIfe

Life flows fluidly
A stream
Both warm and cool
Ebbing and swelling
But always
In motion
Across the fields,
Hills and valleys
Of human
Experience.
Life standing still
Is, in all likelihood,
Ill.

Life standing still
Casts a substance-free
Shadow;
A silhouette
Of nothing
Begetting
Yet nothing.
A still life
Is not life at all,
But a suggested structure
Without foundation
Simply waiting
To fall.

Still life suggests
But cannot be explicit,
With pretense
And death
It is coldly complicit.
Still life is
An ill life;
With a tad
Of courage,
A heartbeat and
A smidgen of will,
Life will not
Allow itself to
Stand completely still.


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