the life
on which we thrive
is so small
amongst the larger
landscape
of a picture
that tells a thousand words

the life
we so treasure
becomes a whisper
of nothing more
than a dream
in the lives
of those
who are dying

the life
we are
the life
we can’t see
is contained
in an egg shell

and its mother
is the womb
of all mothers
from the wife
in which we live
called life

© Tamara Natividad | pisceanesque.com | Written 21 October, 2002