it’s not always obvious…

it's not always obvious

stopped
by
aunt bea’s
to
deliver
some
costco items
she
had asked for
i told aunt bea
that
i had
had
a very
interesting conversation
with
an elderly woman
who was in
one of those
electric shopping carts
the kind
with
a small basket
in front
which seemed to me
to be
ill-suited
for
a warehouse market
a market
that
generally
sells supersize items
and
that basket couldn’t
have held more
than
two or three
of
anything
but
we had a nice visit
however
i said to aunt bea
i still can’t
figure out
why
she just didn’t
order the items online
and
have them delivered
aunt bea
smiled
and
said
maybe she wasn’t
shopping
for
any particular item
but for
what you provided

 

 

the forgotten…

the forgotten

sitting unheard
in
the shadows
of
life
are
the old dreamers
dreamers
who had
such
wonderful plans
as they
set out
on
life’s journey
only
to end up
barely visible
in
the shadows
of
existence
with
their dreams
scattered
like
litter
around
their useless feet
useless
since
they have no time
left
to travel
the promise
of
death
anchors them
to
retirement home hallways
or
their
artificially
cheerful cells
decorated
with
life fragments
a time
when
they weren’t
in
this purgatory
this
transitional place
that
offers
drive-by-visitors
family members
who’ve
forgotten
that
beinghood
is more than
safety
it’s a warm embrace
and
seeing daily
the faces
of
those you love
but
convenience
becomes
the watch word
and so
souls become
forgotten

fears…

fears...

what woke you
at
night
when you were
a child
still lingers
in
the darkness
haunting
the hours
before dawn
but
for
some poor souls
it lingers
throughout
the day
and though
these are
no more
than created ghosts
harmless apparitions
that
cannot touch
nor
be touched
their mere
presence
in the light of day
fosters
anxieties
spinning
the mind
like
a child playing
with
an old toy top
creating
a dark loneliness
an invisible veil
that conceals
the colors
of
the world
leaving only
shades
of gray
and
dark shadows
turning
each day
into
a child’s night

closing act…

awakiening

at some point
we all
end up
standing
center stage
with
the lights fading
no lines
to
memorize
or
share
with our audience
no props
to
collect
and
manipulate
nor
costumes
to change into
just
a single soul
alone
with
no one
to
hug them