2018 Sonnet 50

You never hear how old oldtimers are
Until their numbered days on earth are done.
They always seem so young, a shooting star.
Mere shadows, now remembered like the sun,

Illuminating corners of psyche
That otherwise can’t bear the light of day.
A thorny life in death remaining spikey.
A sticky situation, as they say.

The Bible says we all will be forgotten.
Remembered only in the heart of God.
Though briefly sanctified, good or rotten,
All look the same reposed beneath the sod.

Mundane days remembered take on glory.
Those who are no more are just a story.

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