People I was friends with.
People I was enemies with
People I liked.
People I didn’t like.
People I passed by
through my travels
and in my life seeing
but never knowing.
Now Dead. Gone from
this world. In graves.
The friends I miss.
The enemies no longer
enemies. And our
squabbles insignificant
now. Which probably
meant nothing after all.
It’s as if all of them,
and insignificant me,
are just bit players in
a cosmic production,
playing different parts
until the final curtain
when our lives end,
and all of the dramas,
all of the good times,
become like a dream.
Bob Boyd