The Obituary

I wonder how they felt it might read,

summing up their life,

in a nutshell,

passing through all of the bad times,

focus upon the good, the energy, the meaning,

the society we live in deems the necessary truths.

If we knew,

would we then change our mind,

if we could stand in the back of the church,

see the weeping eyes,

the countless expressions of confusion,

would we,

care.

 

I wonder what mine will say today,

as compared to years from now,

which would be more attractive,

the present reality

or that seeming legacy that time forgot,

only the pain did always remain,

a constant,

within even a moment of relief,

there would be the memory of how many times,

we might have,

he might have,

thought differently than to withstand

normalcy.

 

Oh the papers they might read,

and then in a week or two,

there his ashes would be spread.

So Tired Is Wakeful Wish

When we want what we cannot discover,

that part of our lives we tend to shatter

when simple acceptance might be rather

more easily attained than that challenge.

Have you watched the human being

quiet in their own repose alone soft

hearted and soulful with each glance.

Have you realized that the tiresome eyes

they provide our own visual record

might simply become the same fatigue

we all try to ignore, try to pretend away.

yet, when last we spoke of finding more

hours in the day, we were earnest with our

quest to plan our way more logically,

and yet again, well, glance at midnight.

The moonlight wanes this evening after

a weekend of brilliance to accentuate our

lives in a festive, explosive celebration.

Well that time is then, and today begins now.