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what's so funny about the end
of something of things that you thought would remain a sunrise and a sunset that clouds always alter themselves that people who are real smile with their eyes dark irony is rich but not in the way it would fill your pockets more like a blip to the head with a rusted battle-ax the sort of alarm clock that does you in getting older has its points and some of them are pins like pain unsubtle reminders to once again rouse you from the daily inertia of expected routine life is not what it seems an unending well from which to raise a bucket to quake the thirst true you in it does have its worth and all your persistence will not keep the end from knocking at your door or turning the last page rage away he once wrote at the dark spark called life I didn't always seize it when it mattered opportunity those old ghosts of people gone now scattered I visit them in my dreams and still wake to find one beside me snoring sonorously in deepest peace... would I know his sweet relief to leave the unnecessary of the past like clothes and shoes you outgrow and must replace otherwise the endings have no flavor just laughable irony a clunky space I was told by someone that we do not die just shift into another form I'd like to put in a request then I'd like to be a bird so that when trouble comes I can fly and take my flock of friends for company if this poem makes sense like it does to me then reader let me know especially those at the end of their lives not knowing quite what to expect just beyond the door. written directly to the page Memorial Day 7:02 5/25/2020 as outside people are clanging their pots and pans, whistling and kazooing and yelling their support of "heroes" I appreciate this fanfare...but there are other heroes, unsung and unfortunately, those who will never have their song. legal copyright for this poem 5/25/2020 7:02PM PST time/date stamped and also for this poet Melissa A. Howells...and also for this legally copyrighted and registered site title-Meloo Straight From Her Tilt-a-World we all deserve to be remembered for something after we've gone... I hope my words here and my art serve that purpose. Vote for this poem |
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