posted on Jun, 12 2013 @ 11:38 PM
Today my neighbor came home to find their tabby cat mauled to death in their yard by a dog. The suspect dog is known to have killed 2 previous cats
but their were no witnesses to today's carnage. The neighbors are heart broken. So I helped them bury their cat in the backyard amongst the flowers.
Immediately upon returning to my own home I received a call that a friend just died of a massive heart attack. They want me to speak at her memorial
this Friday. For several weeks I have been experiencing a strong sense of the importance of acknowledging my love and care for others. Life can throw
so many things at us and all at once. Life is so precious but I want to respect death as well. There is a time for us all.
I don't know but suspect I am depressed by all that has happened and out of this emotion I wrote the following:
I begin my story with the admission
that I will most likely never finish it.
I have always been addicted to procrastination.
However, perhaps this time I will do it.
I confess somehow it is important to me
that perhaps there will be someone, someday
who will see my nakedness and not turn away.
My earliest memories are conflicting images,
of houses, grandparents, fear and laughter
all mixed together like a cheap potpourri.
The smells of cottonwood trees,
wet clay, lilac blooms and kerosene stoves.
What could these things have in common you ask?
They are the fragrances of my life, the sweet,
the sweaty and the stench.
I will endeavor not to write a self serving tale
or sing my sad song much too late.
For many years of my youth I felt special,
believing that somehow I would accomplish
something important, something great.
Now in my sixties, I am faced with my mediocrity,
and the horror of missed opportunities.
A handful of people think they know me.
I have hidden as much of my stench as possible
So they don’t really see me.
I seem to understand now
why men have built pyramids and tall buildings.
and placed their names upon them.
Maybe the goal of life is to be remembered beyond our death.
How many tombstones reach up out of the earth
shouting forgotten names.
There was a time I was full of optimism,
with endless days stretching before me.
I could do almost anything.
Now I have become one of those old people
doing nice things in hopes of accomplishing something,
anything of purpose and value in the time I have left.
Even pets leave their prints in the concrete.
What about me? Should I really care?
Shall I go hunting for a wet sidewalk somewhere?
Like a middle name that is always abbreviated
my faded name really doesn’t matter.
Will my life leave this world a better place?
Will my name bring a smile to a face?
If it does then I died without disgrace.