Sounds dance on the ceiling, <br />spiraling downward, in the <br />flashing light of the unknown night. <br />Its diversion creates memories <br />and provides us with humor. <br /> <br />But death hides, in the darkness <br />of the flashing light, <br />while the light presents us <br />with only half the truth. <br />Our movements are flipbooks <br />of motion and the ocean walls <br />submit us to death’s judgment. <br /> <br />Cameras disobey every call <br />to return to us owners, <br />leaving us without evidence. <br />Our small tales have grown, <br />becoming simply tall tales!<br /><br />Michael Fischer<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/our-brush-with-death/
