Cochise Stronghold

All things add up to zero.
It matters not if you reside high above the lawless boulders,
Or how happily your days are spent
For now,
Soon they must come:
Officers, Indians, fangs and fungus,
That which tears between the bones.
Little does it mean if you sit cross-legged and naked,
Or use an iron drying pan,
A day spent happily in play
Will at given times turn to venom, and stay.
Then autumn breezes will flow
Right through the thin skin,
A blue breeze, a breeze that says farewell.
The null set is then:
And it is not unpleasant
For a life well-lived;
But a terror-torrent for those who only take
And do not give.

poem by Stan Petrovich
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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