It was meant to be
by Rich Furman

    The hail falling hits the May earth hard. We laugh at
    the absurdity of such cold in spring. We refuse to submit
    with t-shirts, girls with tummies naked. It is like this.
    We surrender to the infinite way like a child takes to medicine.
    Rebelling choking struggling the inevitability
    lost to the madness of will. Over a beer, we fret of the details,
    marvel over the wonders. Taxes, baseball, stiffening joints, time
    the young bodies that will spoil as sure as sharp cheese in the sun,
    the minds that will ruin with redundancy, the fall of cherished idols.
    We open our mouths, catch the sky one time in every ten.
    This is the way it was meant to be.

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