Traces of our life

Past settles into presence

And the air feels wry

How long would it take to measure my life?

Would it be by my good deeds,

Or my years I’ve laid down.

Would they count all my wishes that never came ‘round.

Is it based on disorder or chaotic expression?

Will I be a contender or a foreboding lesson?

Do they detest all my waiting and days that were in pause?

As I struggled in reflection, running loops around my thoughts. 

Are they kind and admiring or do they shake their heads slow?

A long solemn nod at a life I let go. 

I wish to be palpable, to strike hope to their fears,

To help them imagine their own self through my tears. 

I’d wear down the pages just to unfurl, the aching, the hurting, my life drawn to words. 

If all is dismembered,

If all is for naught,

At least I have beckoned to those who are lost. 

With words still undelivered, I would package my home.

Seal my great coffin, store poems in my tomb. 

All is forgiven, the world a cruel device.

Should I have been the one driven to turn wrong into right?

My story is told, as best as it can be,

May you be the fool who decides who is deemed;

The worthy, the righteous, the best of the best.

The one ill considered, yet the one most adept.