A critical and satirical gazette about our world.

Saturday, November 24, 2012

70


As I enter the decade of death
and plan for endless dreamless sleep
certain as Earth turning from light to night
I recall the spiritual seasons of my life:
hope exploding from an atmospheric prism
joy blazing through the gold lens of a star
adventure adrift with leaves on the wind
crystallized languor frozen in place

despite flickering memoirs of bliss
like sparkling sunshine through breaks
in a cloud-crowded sky of indigo blue
my mind rewinds moments of pain
as if highlights from a constant cinema
featuring every being I have known
in need, love, abuse, joy, and sorrow--
tragicomedy worthy of a reckless writer

aware now of each heartbeat
and wondering which will be my last
I mourn the loss of life in brain and brawn
but mostly bemoan what might have been
had I the prudence to expect events
occurring around the next twist or turn
events that make all the difference
for that extraordinary chance to exist

but regret is a poison potion
that lowers the view below the horizon
and prevents a vision of goodness
a revelation too often lost in fancy
for I must know that as a mere man
I can no more change my story
than stop the stretch of shadows
draping the angles off a redwood tree

and my meager human existence
for all its erratic blinking in the dark
is meaningless in the cosmoscape
but for any benefit I have bestowed
for the good of other living things--
fellow mortals who dwelt with me
on this grand sphere for blips in time
and finally disappeared in the dust


Poem by Jack Forge.  Read Jack's other writing and connect with him at Smashwords.

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