|Chair of Life
As I sit upon the tattered chair of life,
Contemplating my umbilicals.
I choose not to throw them out.
But rather, to embrace them,
Until the light of day once again,
Casts a shadow of me and my chair,
Across the room,
The chair is not a symbol of all that's,
Old and new. But a pedestal,
For a better view,
And so I will ride this chair,
Until all my days are through.
Thinking of what you mean to me,
And what I mean to you.
Copyright 2004 © Ronald W. Hull
Read War's End, the Novel