many people die as life victims outpatients in an unsympathetic void where the affairs of life are rewarded like a pet receiving a treat for good behavior whose mourners celebrate but who’s celebrated never joined the party
nothing
will be placed
upon
the earth
to
mark
that i was here
it is
by my choice
for
no one
really
looks at graves
oh
someone
may wander by
and
comment
about
a clever verse
inscribed
upon
the marble
but
it is
the inscription
that’s
recalled
not
the person
no one
ever really knew
the
person
that
housed the soul
beneath
the flesh
that’s
why
we’re not recalled
we began
as a faded image
and
death
merely bleached
what
was left
leaving
at best
a sketch
of
what
people wanted
to
believe
outside your window
black crows
like
impending death
linger
waiting
for
a motionless corpse
before
approaching
no need
for
them
to rush
and
risk
resistance
from
you
they know
death
will arrive
and
you
will die
and they
will
feast
gathered up
my
memories
and
placed them
upon
my mind’s table
sorted
through
a few
and
tossed others
aside
especially
the ones
tainted
by
the hatred
of
others
there
were quite
a few
of
those
including
several
i had not
recognized before
but
i
like others
are
haunted
by
apparitions
of
yesterday’s
trust and belief
in
any case
the remaining memories
were
of
loves lost
and
loves unclaimed
each
unique
in their own way
none
could
or
should
be regretted
just
past moments
in
time
unclaimed baggage
from
a trip
long completed
odd little place
nestled
among
ohio’s hills
a general store
ran
by
the appearance
of
its owner
for
decades
upon
decades
as would be expected
everything
you might fancy
was
available
some things
i hadn’t seen
since
my youth
were
readily available
enamored
by
this relic of time
and
its owner
i asked
to take his photo
he said
most certainly
but said
just one moment
he went
into
another room
i noticed him
slicking down his hair
for
the picture
i
also noticed
a calendar
with
days x-ed out
after
taking his portrait
i
inquired
about the calendar
he said
i’m marking the days
till
my death
curious
i inquired
when might that be
he said
i don’t know
the marks
are to remind me
to celebrate
each day
as if
the
last
i have no time to live or relive your fears of what might be or should be those offer nothing to my final days so i’ve chosen to listen to what the sparrow has to say about this new day
