I’m awake at dawn, the clock strikes 5 as I watch
The fan above turn the sultry summer air around and
Around with the thoughts in my head – WHAT TO DO
Today. The list begins as I stretch and wonder why I do
What I do until I move past the window and pause. Continue reading
I’m from New Jersey, no
Not really. I mean, geographically
NJ and DE and MA and CA –
Yes, but my heart, my soul?
I’m from a deep deep unseen place
That began in the bottomless sea, Continue reading
Are the stars out tonight?
Is it gloomy or bright?
Should I believe in a wish
Or not strive for true bliss?
My star is plastic, pointy and hard
Reminding me always to be on guard
No night is soft, the air turns cold
Just like this star that I firmly hold
The end could be the beginning, or,
it could really damn well be the END.
A famous quote is needed here –like “to be or not to be.”
No Shakespeare am I, but I wonder if
“The end of never is the beginning of always”?
Books finish with The End. But is the story over?
Do the characters live on, at least in the reader’s mind?
In that case, the end is never-ending – infinite,
at least until the last reader is gone.
A week before my dad died, he declared,
“I’ve realized that when I die, it’s over.
Nothing is left but cold old bones.
I go nowhere, and nowhere is the end.”
I ignored him, hoping for some hope but
held his hand when he took his last breath.
Joyfully we both realized at the same time
That he was wrong.
In honor of National Poetry Month, and in the words of Rumi:
roughwighting 