Poem

Came upon this poem in downtown San Jose...it's etched into a giant slab of concrete that serves as a random, giant table of sorts in the middle of a plaza. Was intrigued enough to find it a few weeks later on the interwebs. Something about it, I feel is so true.

Could be

I only sang because the lonely road was long;

and now the road and I are gone

but not the song.

I only spoke the verse to pay for borrowed time:

and now the clock and I are broken

but not the rhyme.

Possibly,

the self not being fundamental,

eternity

breathes only on the incidental.

-Ernesto Galarza