Every idealist sooner or later
Becomes a realist;
Sooner or later, every realist
Becomes a fatalist;
Sooner or later,
We all throw in the towel
Stepping into the ranks
Of marching morons
Heading stutter-stepping
Toward the cliffs of oblivion,
But every now and then
Some marchers break step
To choose a new direction,
And if marching morons
Can regain their senses
Why not you and I?


Water evaporates into clouds
Snow falls upon the mountains
Ice melts into water
Rivers collect the water
And carry it back to the sea
Where it evaporates again
And if water runs in an endless cycle
Why not you and I.

We all know what's in store for us
A granite marker in a graveyard,
Bleached bones in a quiet crypt,
Ashes in an urn on someone's shelf,
When doom comes for us
We all go one way or the other
Some go kicking and screaming
Others go quite serenely
But sooner or later we all go
For we must shuffle off this mortal coil
And move on to the next one
Making room for those
Who enter stage right
While we exit stage left
But every now and then
Some players get called back
For another encore,
And if actors can reprise their roles,
Why not you and I?

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This poem requires some extra comment.  It was written over a 12 hour period by throwing random thoughts together, then paring down the resulting mess into something resembling a poem.  The original was three times longer than this and, trust me, you don't want to see it.  The piece started with a challenge from my girl friend to write a poem based upon the concept of a pleasant doom, but that concept didn't survive the editing process.