In life we were philosophers

Socrates, Plato, Aristotle,

Observing all,

Probing into every nook and cranny

Of life's inexhaustible shuffle.

Now we watch over

Oblivion,

Nothing born into something

Brief,

Only to shrivel and fade into

Nothing again.

Without the means to ascertain

The why for which they came.

And if indeed, they came for

Anything.

We sit upon our waterfall;

Souls flowing in and out,

Robbed of reason and of rhyme

By that great enemy:

Time.