Twenty-two.
Thirty-four, twenty-seven
thirty-nine
Cancer, leukemia, suicide
insidious bastards, each
‘gone too soon’
‘in a better place’
sycophant salutations
of condolence
We hardly knew ye
Sons, daughters of old friends.
A cousin.
Classmates of our children.
All too vivid reminders
“There but for the grace of God…”
not at all feeling full of grace
single: such promise, unfulfilled
married: too young to be a…
Do not platitude me.
Circle of life
natural order
called home –
clichés
bring comfort only to
disquieted conveyor
I call you, life, on your
inherent bullshit.
starting over
parents, siblings, spouses,
friends, acquaintances
colleagues and well-meaning
fund-raisers
‘moving on’
tethers, broken
bonds strengthened
but how to attach
shackles of memories
to a ghost?
life without
life after
life different
life goes on
a life goes away,
we stick around
starting over is stopping,
shifting gears
in-neutral-contemplation
with motor running
deciding direction,
starting slowly, accelerating
gently, with caution,
shifting into low-gear
traversing rocky terrain
‘it is what it is’
banalities softening
in tone, over time
hardening in heavy-handed
sanctification of
never quite being sure
Why, why, why.
And why?
‘Death, be not proud’
I am not proud to say
‘I do not like this, ‘God, I am’!
I do not like these dirty ends
forgiving departure begets
forgetting things petty
anger taking grief- time
better spent elsewhere, but…
how ironically oxymoronic;
indelible as a life
it is death, cannot be erased
Raging against
the dying of the light
all the more fruitless
when the light was only
just ignited
– Mark L. Lucker
© 2019
http://lrd.to/sxh9jntSbd
Ponderable polemics, poetic 