Old friends and generational icons dying everywhere
Reinforcing the undeniable, hard-bitten fact we all die.
Dreams, plans, successes, memories, you obliterated.
Even proud, sky high tombstones eventually decimated,
All remnants destroyed in the rushing currents of time.
Why the hell do we all have to endure this?
A thousand years or less, mostly less, and
Nobody knows or gives a damn about you.
Unless you’re Buddha or Jesus Christ
Or some insane, murderous Roman emperor,
Who did dastardly things that made him newsworthy
For his inhuman infamy, his reign of terrors.
Hey you reading this. Yes you. I have a question for you.
I get this feeling we’ve met before; is it true?
Maybe in MA, Fla, NY, VT, NC, TX, Germany, the Philippines, an astral plane or a former life?
Or woe is me and you, say it isn’t true, not at SROG where you might have been a social worker or a volunteer, or in some other tortured capacity before you fled.
But I digress with these crazy, playful speculations.
Ever temporarily forget you are going to die?
I used to, rarely thought about my demise.
But when the High Command Oversoul of everything
Blessed me with a rare, killer cancer and the
Cancer screwed up and failed to kill me,
I no longer gave a damn about Death.
Speaking of which, Hello Death.
How’s it going? Is it a good day for kills?
Come and bring your slick sickle.
Slice me clean out of this life,
Try to end my remaining years
Slay me with a quick and
Fateful swing of your sickle.
Liberate me from this temporal life.
I’m looking forward to it,
a better life in the afterlife.
But, alas, like that incompetent Cancer
You’ll probably screw up too and
Make that Cone doctor’s prediction come
True. Another 30 years of life.
Bob Boyd
