Floating on Daydreams

Pass On

This poem is by Michael Lee. The text beneath the poem is my reaction to it. 

Pass On

When searching for the lost, remember 8 things:

1.

We are vessels, we are rooms,

we are so much less important than the things inside of us.

We are circuit boards

swallowing the electricity of life upon birth.

It wheels through us creating every moment,

the pulse of a story, the soft hums of labor and love.

In our last moment it will come rushing

from our chests and be given back to the wind.

When we die, we go everywhere.

2.

Newton said energy is neither created nor destroyed.

In the halls of my middle school I can still hear

my friend Stephen singing his favorite song.

In the gymnasium I can still hear

the way he dribbled that basketball like it was a mallet

and the earth was a xylophone.

With an ear to the Atlantic I can hear

the Titanic’s band playing her to sleep,

Music. Wind. Music. Wind.

If you listen to the wind and you don't hear atleast a thousand years of music

then you're not listening hard enough.

3.

The day my grandfather passed away there was the strongest wind,

I could feel his gentle hands blowing away from me.

I knew then they were off to find someone

who needed them more than I did.

On average 1.8 people on earth die every second.

There is always a gust of wind somewhere.

4.

The day Stephen was murdered

everything that made us love him rushed from his knife wounds

as though his chest were an auditorium

his life an audience leaving in a single file,

wandering the earth for days and nights.

Every ounce of him has been

wrapping around this world in a windstorm.