All Three of Me

Time is limited.  There isn’t much left of it, he said. Why then, at forty-nine has my life as myself only just started? And will the first year of my new beginning last until the end of time? Or, in the stretching, will it thin out – in the middle – with neither of the…

200: A Silly Poem

  Today, by midnight, I’ll score two hundred hits. This day, two hundred days on, I’ll be a something that is older than the something that I am today. And then?   Copyright owned by Jay Cool, May 2019    Image by Free-Photos from Pixabay