Burying Friends

I’m listening to Miles Davis this morning,

sort of a jazzy interlude,

that music thing,

that piece of escapism

helps me peace my thoughts together.

 

I remember when I was nineteen years old and high,

in a record store

seeing the man leaning against a tree with a trumpet in hand,

I was stunned and mesmerized.

It was that day I realized how much melody

exists in our lives to help tell the stories we create.

 

Today, I would take solace in letting Miles help me,

to piece together that confusion,

the ultimate washed out fear of a reality

that is prevalent in everyone’s mind,

when saying good-bye,

offering a farewell to a person or person’s (today)

we all truly love.

 

Today I didn’t wonder as much why,

as I did how,

when is it determined this space

we covet on occasion,

become territorial during others,

when is it the evolution of time,

decides life is ready to begin definition

of that newer chapter –

the one we all hanging around

anticipate with beckoning mystique.

 

So I said goodbye,

much like we all do when the time is right,

with tears and memory,

and happy smiles and hugs,

and worried looks and contemplation,

what’s next,

and who is in line …

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