How can this be happening

                                I am living in a dream turned nightmare

                                turned day and I am awake but not waking

                                to this reality.


                                You were fine and now the phone rings

                                news not wanted, can they be wrong,

                                let’s just call it off

                                this whole thing is not for us

                                others get tragedy, we are too ordinary

                                I am here to watch and feel for them

                                I do not want to feel for us

                                I am waiting for it to be wrong


                                wrong number,

                                mixed up the test,

                                you can rest.


                                Your cells have rebelled

                                gaining ground, taking

                                taking, taking,


                                your life strong, should still be long

                                you are not grey, but on the way

                                I want to see you old and wrinkled,

                                a grandchild on each knee

                                bouncing life back into

                                this revolting reality

                                that feels unreal

                                how can this be real

                                I reel.


                                Six weeks 

                                I sit as images roll of you

                                young, wedded, aging,

                                none should be seen by this many

                                those were our memories

                                now displayed

                                why do they cry?

                                I know they are sobbing for my tragedy

                                I don’t want sobs

                                I will hold on to cry


                                so I can escape before I am entangled in too many

                                arms, reaching for me, suffocating me

                                comfort is not comfortable

                                do not remind me I am not in your shoes

                                you are sorry for me

                                I am sorrier.


                                Life is a thief

                                too short to grieve

                                always taunting

                                you may be next

                                to part with me

                                nothing is guaranteed.


                                I sit now with too many things

                                in too many rooms

                                how did you

                                fill so many shoes?

                                and the ones on your feet too

                                what do I do with those,

                                so much life left in their soles

                                my soul has run out of tread

                                I dread.


                                They say life goes on, life moves fast,

                                time will pass, make the memories last

                                I laugh.


                                I know what air is when it breaks you,

                                does not sustain you

                                even breathing feels like dying

                                still I take it in

                                my lungs win

                                still my heart knows the thing

                                this is not living

                                merely existing 

                                time does not heal all

                                wounds turn to infection

                                eating my soul

                                I need a resurrection.


                                Years pass, they forget your birthday

                                move on they say

                                as they stay

                                right on living their happy lives,

                                barely able to oblige

                                when I say time is different now

                                the tortoise knows a thing or ten

                                why hurry when we all will end,

                                life is scary, you may need to hide

                                inside a shell

                                of your design

                                don’t let them tell you to run fast,

                                when at your pace

                                peace you’ll have

                                and even if they get there first

                                the joke’s on them

                                they were running

                                to catch a hearse.







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