Alone.
No one else now…
Not for years.
An empty corridor leading to
Another empty corridor…
And another.
Alone.
There is no one else now.
But there is unbounded freedom,
And the world beckons.
Alone.
There is no one else now.
Will I succumb
Or take flight?
Morning stroll.
Crossing a bridge over a busy highway.
Below, cars jockey for position.
At high speed, they dart in and out,
Passing one another,
Frantic to get somewhere quickly,
No matter the risk.
I walk on.
Every forty yards or so, I hear the next birdsong…
Each repetitive, but musical and unique, and therefore beguiling.
Relentless, they call out for a mate every morning.
They are so determined,
And will not be denied this.
Now in my 70s, I am in no hurry to get anywhere.
Nor do I need to mate.
What’s left?
Musing from quiet observations.
How alone I am.
No one else now.
Hasn’t been for a while.
Isolation…an empty corridor leading to but another empty corridor.
How alone I am.
No one else now.
But there is unbounded freedom, too,
And the world beckons, an open invitation.
How alone I am.
No one else now.
But will I succumb
Or will I explore?
Steps to the back door…
Not even a fleck of paint remains…
Wood worn and frayed at the edges.
Years and years of faithful support.
Always there to help you inside,
While dismissing the harshest weather.
They still bear up, uncomplaining, under heavy weight,
But greet you happily in the morning,
And wave a soulful goodnight in the evening.
Never proud in death’s sad embrace,
And when the winds blow and the harsh rains descend,
The soul doth but meekly ascend.
Here but a few moments in fleeting time,
When it is time to go, we do not mend,
As the hourglass comes to its crushing end.
Nothing to say about such a journey…
No soothing comment for who must follow.
Silence — the only reply from the cavernous hollow.
“Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.” Dylan Thomas
“Just as if a god told you that you would die tomorrow or at least the day after tomorrow, you would attach no importance to the difference of one day, unless you are a complete coward (such is the tiny gap of time); so you should think there no great difference between life to the umpteenth year and life to tomorrow.” Marcus Aurelius
“You are a little soul carrying a corpse.” Epictetus
All the disappointment;
All the heartache;
All the despair.
Let it go,
Let it go,
Let it go.
All the hardship;
All the failure;
All the sorrow.
Let it go,
Let it go,
Let it go.
All the grievance;
All the resentment;
All the anger;
Let it go,
Let it go,
Let it go.
Be here now,
Be here now,
Be here now.
That is all.
All the cries and despairs,
All the wounds and daily cares,
All the anxieties and their scares…
Now, just fallen leaves, dead leaves,
Once again.
All the dreams and their joys,
All the schemes and sly ploys,
All the hopes and attaboys…
Now, just fallen leaves, dead leaves,
Once again.
But then another spring comes around
So lush, new-born leaves abound,
Once again.
My muse is mostly mute,
Her eyes closed and mouth shut.
She’s particular about when to speak;
Will brook no truck with any cheek.
The passing fancy doesn’t amuse;
Not interested in the current news.
Will never even waste a glance
When her mind’s caught in a trance.
But then her moment comes around,
Her voice clear and strong as a belltower gong.
So never ignore an elusive sage,
Diviner of truth and beauty in every age.
