A WELL LIVED LIFE

There’s no time to be lonely walking life’s journey,
With it comes blessings, promises and ambition.
You’ll be introduced to countless individuals,
Walking alongside a portion of your journey. 

Only a few will follow your life’s transition,
While others will come and go throughout your life.
Those privileged few celebrate your wins with you,
Share promises and remain your lifetime confidant.
 

When the perseverance of living in silence,
Tells how today’s discord is buried deep within.
Your visible image stands tall, hiding secrets,
Those in your company, know nothing different.
 

No one knows where the road of life will lead them to,
Nor will they know which way to go at the road’s fork.
Each of our paths will be chosen and supported,
With yesterday’s happenings and tomorrow’s hope.
 

Before your life begins to fall down around you,
You create a list; with hopes no one sees your quirk.
With intent, each of the pros and cons calculated,
The fork begins to partially define its scope.
 

Yet, the unrevealed paths endure in defiance,
Just like when you finish your day, with one last win.
Although your journey left you tired and sleepless,
There were many opportunities to repent.
 

At the door’s grand entry, you wait for admission,
Your mind impatiently flashbacks to all the strife.
Reflecting your life’s journey, only to construe,
Maybe ruminate, yet, leaving nothing undone.
 

The times you start feeling alone and far from free,
You will stop stressing and seeking validation.
When burdens, problems and troubles invade your soul,
Remember, a new life awaits, once you find your key.

 

 

 

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REAL MEN DON’T CRY

Not wanting to waste her valuable time,

I arranged only a half hour with her.

Knowing her daily agenda is filled,

Our routine impromptu chat just won’t work.

 

Just minutes before my appointment time,

I wiped the remnants of my latest tears.

I looked like I lost an allergy fight,

Before taking my longest walk that day.

 

I grabbed a handful more tissues, a pen,

My “to do” notepad and my envelope.

I left my office, arrived at her door,

In mere seconds, not the hours it felt like.

 

Although her office was steps from my own,

It felt like I walked miles to get there.

By now, my nerves gotten the best of me,

As seen by the cold sweat, I broke into.

 

Her door slightly ajar, I knocked gently,

With her stoic smile, she welcomed me in.

Apologizing her need to wrap-up,

An e-mail she was about to send out.

 

Perhaps, my formality confused her,

She offered me a seat at her table.

Nervously, I decided where to sit,

I took the chair opposing the desk’s side.  

 

Once the e-mail was sent, she left her desk,

Apologizing again, she joined me.

Taking the chair, directly facing me,

I acknowledged her and let out a sigh.

 

Our silence was louder than our voices,

Silently, she read my body language.

Granting time to regain my composure,

I wiped my tears again, took a deep breath.

 

Understanding her leadership style,

I reminded myself to be direct. 

With a poker face and staying to script,

My voice cracked like a pre-pubescent boy.

 

Hoping another deep breath would calm me,

But anxiety riddled my body.

I stated my intent to retire,

Effective Friday, December thirteenth.

 

With a heavy heart, I shared my motives,

From promises made to new adventures.

Through tears, I mouthed genuine gratitude,

Telling her its time to prioritize me first.

 

I looked at my friends who jumped jobs often,

They questioned what kept me devoted here.

Knowing deep within why I stayed around,

As the non-cash dividends kept paying.

 

I spent some of our time reminiscing,

Being truly blessed with a great career.

From having met and made lifelong great friends,

To some becoming extended family.

 

Grateful for opportunities given,

Celebrating moments and milestones.

Best known for wearing the Y shirt proudly,

I leave a legacy in all I’ve done. 

 

Feeling I overextended my stay,

We brought our intimate chat to a close.

It felt like only a few minutes passed,

Just passed an hour is what my watch showed.         

 

Hearing her voice, supporting my decree,

I felt the weight on my shoulders release.

With the warmth of a hug and parted words,

I held back tears, seeing only a blur.

 

I walked the same steps back to my office,

Seeing fragments of my years strewn throughout.

Many memorable moments filled my brain,

I sensed this wasn’t a dream I woke up to.

 

Every item has a story to tell,

Each object has an untold tale to share.

My degrees quenched my thirst for knowledge,

The myriad of books kept me learning.

 

Seeing my large Curious George collection,

Signifying innate curiosity.

Rekindling a firm gentle reminder,
Be the child who remains curious.

 

There is thoughtful notes and heartfelt messages,

Along with gifts received over the years.

With the remainder of mix-n-match stuff,

Inviting guests in getting to know me.

 

When I leave the office, my final time,

I feel tears stream down my eyes to my cheeks.

With no more tissue, I let the tears flow,

Hearing whispers, how real men don’t cry.

 

Upon closing the door of this chapter,

I leave with my head held high and stand proud.

There will always be a why in all I do,
Even when the Y won’t always be seen.

 

As I strategize for my next chapter,

I accepted my past without regret,

I handled my present with confidence,

I will face my future without a fear.

 

I gather my thoughts, dust my memories,

I peruse through years of photo albums,

I scan through many handwritten letters,

Then when I’m ready, I’ll begin writing.

 

Knowing I am better green and growing,

Then turning red, only to ripen and rot.

In time, just as those parting before me,

I will become another faceless name.

 

Reflecting my over forty-year journey,

It’s not what I have in life that mattered,

It’s the lives I impacted and inspired,     

And those who left their footprint in my heart. 

 

 

 

 

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POETIC PARALYSIS

As a resident caretaker,
I put together words with grace,
But there are days, it’s just a strain,
I pray and take my best gamble.

I put my pen to my paper,
But I stare at the voided space,
Only waiting on my own brain,
Taking its time to unscramble.

At times, I wish to escape her,
But I’m left with a bunch of notes,
Scattered throughout my own doing,
Even when my day becomes night.

So many pieces of paper,
But even more digital quotes,
Trying to get my muse moving,
When my writer’s block grip holds tight.

I try once again, introduce,
Pen to paper, hands to keyboard,
An empty white sheet or white screen,
Stares back, waiting on guidance from me.

When people ask, with no excuse,
I reply, it wasn’t boredom,
Nor where my words stuck in routine,
As I shared, she wouldn’t set me free.

Even with my vast collection,
Notes and quotes often stayed dormant,
She showed she was still in control,
When I felt her hand grip tighter.

My mind got lost in reflection,
Perhaps entering procurement,
While protecting my heart and soul,
From her being my ghostwriter.

Suddenly my familiar itch,
Reached for my favorite blue pen,
Opened my journal to the clip,
Ready to write from leads I know.

When my new thoughts began to twitch,
My words commenced flowing again,
Her hand softened their evil grip,
She knew it was time to let go.

With words whisking on to paper,
Or even to my computer,
Her evil spell she held onto,
Finally, dissolved into air.

I reign as my own curator,
Archiving on my computer,
Anything worth holding onto,
For the joy of my future heir.

 

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A CONVERSATION WITH AN ALTRUIST

In the midst of living a busy life,

Today, I noticed a new face moved in.

Being neighborly, I chose to meet him,

I rehearsed how I’d introduce myself.

 

I practiced my approach a couple times,

Before deciding to walk on over.

With only a tad bit of nervousness,

I climbed the few stairs and knocked on his door.

 

He answered the door, I looked right at him,

I saw an amiable neighbor’s joy.

He eagerly, invited me inside,

I entered feeling oddly comfortable,

 

Offering the usual, coffee or tea,

I politely accepted, a cup of tea.

He offered a seat at the kitchen table,

I took the chair closest to the window.

 

With the sun’s warmth and light welcoming me,

Reciprocatively, we shared stories.

From where I sat, I could see a mirror,

Hung intentionally with care by the door,

 

He chatted while he prepared the tea,

I watched his body language speak to me.

I listened and kept watching carefully,

Hoping to not be noticed by my stare.

 

I watched his gestures dance to life’s music,

His facial expressions sang to the same songs.

As he brought our teas over and sat down,

Suddenly, his gentle demeanor changed.

 

Almost instantly, before my own eyes,

He transformed into a rigid old man.

I heard a wise and sharp-tongued older man,

Reflect with detail, highlights of his life.

 

Time seemed to escape, as we sat and talked,

I didn’t want to stay beyond my welcome.

I felt it was my time to get going,

Just like that, all at once, the day was done.

 

Making sure I left him on friendly terms,

I thanked him for his time and cup of tea.

I reassured him, we’ll, do it again,

Yet, his simple smile, kept on chatting.

 

I stood up and gently pushed my chair in,

Then walked over to admire the mirror.

Before I left, I briefly stared in it,

I thought I saw the old man staring back,

 

I heard the old man’s voice whisper something,

Not quite sure what he was trying to say.

With tears in both his eyes, I departed,

I hoped it wasn’t my first and last visit.

 

Fumbling for my keys, I unlocked the door,

Walked in, took my favorite seat and found peace.

I thought I heard the old man living next door,

Laugh loudly at something I must have said.

 

Perhaps, it may have been something I did,

It was then, I grasped, why the old man laughed.

Finally, he confessed, that my visit,

Turned out not to be a dream while I slept.

 

A sense of familiarity hit,

When I understood his last words to me.

Saying he was my guardian angel,

Sent by my heavenly loved ones my way.

 

A mastery of his goals must be met,

For him, to earn the coveted golden wings.

Without telling me, he replayed his life,

Over a cup of tea, with the old man.

 

I asked him for a few words to describe himself,

Without hesitation, he answered me.

He responded quick and confidently, 

With the very words I’ve heard since birth.

 

Throwing in a notorious curved pitch,

I watched his interaction and direction.

Attentively, he pushed to the limits,

Testing, if this rigid old man will crack.

 

The day’s conversation with the old man,

Left me questioning God and my own faith.

Time seemed to be suspended and stood still,

Until I realized, I was the old man.

 

Showing the legacy, I’ve left thus far,

I stood proud and tall, looking for tomorrow.

Allowing my life’s story to be shared,

Through the very eyes of my younger self.

 

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THE DAY WHEN GOD ALMOST GAVE UP

When God showed His anger,
His relentless fury,
Took to Earth with His hand.
Releasing a maelstrom,
Of unforgiving storms,
Robbing comfort and peace.

His voice thundered loudly,
Screaming for all to stop,
But did people listen?
God often gave warnings,
Shaking Earth to the core,
As He released earthquakes.

Wrath of destruction hits,
As far as one can see.
Ravaging every thing,
Before their very eyes.
Within seconds of time,
Having lost all they know.

Wind howling in much pain,
Flattening all in sight.
Fires burning remnants,
Leaving yesterdays gone.
Floods washing all away,
Vacating what remains.

They stood there all alone,
Nearly begging for help.
He gave many warnings,
Sharing how hard He tried.
All they heard, being said,
He pushed people away.

When clearly it was them,
With no sense of faith left.
Religious discussion,
Left the church years ago.
Some left only last year,
Even more left with more years past.

Conversation remains,
Amongst close family,
Friends nearby and others.
With religion long gone,
Faint signs of faith exists,
Brings hope for tomorrow.

Some say hope may return,
When we open our hearts,
Asking God’s forgiveness.
Only then, His fury,
Cautiously, frees His grip,
With tomorrow’s sunrise.

 

 

 

 

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