A child is born,
Innocent,
Restless,
Excited.
Circle 'round the seasons,
Play the game,
The game of life,
Through spring,
And summer,
And fall,
To winter.
Twenty years old.
Thunder crackles overhead.
Stomach churning,
Teeth gritting,
Fists clenching.
The boy,
Now a man,
Feels himself,
Falling,
Sinking,
Drowning,
Lost in the abyss,
Of his own hatred.
Circle 'round a second time,
Play the game,
The game of life,
Through winter,
And spring,
And summer,
To fall.
Forty years old.
Eyes flutter open,
Beside his wife,
A smile spreads,
Across his lips.
Late in the morning,
A chilly weekend,
With nothing to do.
Weak hands,
Fresh from bed,
Clutch a coffee mug.
He takes a sip.
Life is peaceful.
Life is good.
Slow,
But good.
Circle 'round yet again,
Play the game,
The game of life,
Through fall,
And winter,
And spring,
To summer.
Sixty years old.
Hazy afternoons,
Walks through fields,
Dancing through puddles,
Enjoying life.
The middle-aged man,
Retired,
Satisfied,
Relaxes in the sun,
Bathing in the laziness,
That sets in.
Circle 'round one last time,
Play the game,
The game of life,
Through summer,
And fall,
And winter,
To spring.
Eighty years old.
April showers,
Grow the flowers.
At least that's what they say.
Wife gone,
Life long.
Despair,
Grief,
Pain.
All of it.
Too much to bear.
The man decides,
It's time to go,
To go to paradise.
He lies in bed,
Sick in the head.
Weariness,
Conquers,
The fear,
Of death.
The breath of death,
Takes him,
Naturally.
About time.
A final prayer,
Will wife be there?
Eyes close,
Heart stops.
As he sleeps,
And rests,
In peace.
(I got this idea from a song called "The Circle Game" by Joni Mitchell .)
YOU ARE READING
Poems from the Right Brain
PoetrySome silly, some not. Some lighthearted, some littered with thought. Some passionate, some numb. Some so clever, some outright dumb. Some more cautious, some bursting with tears. Some revealing memories, some unveiling my fears. So here's my heart...
