poetry

On the day I died,

I saw Death going the other way.

Are you not supposed to be my guide, I cried.

“Not my problem,” he said. “Not today.”

“I’ve been let go. I’ve been told to go away.”

“So to you I say good luck.”

“You’ve had a life. Days good and bad.”

“Chances you seized, others you let slip away.”

“Before we part let me, as one final gift, say”

“There are no more guides out there, in that death has become like life in so many ways.”

“Do your best and then do it again, soon you will find your stride.”

a new poem: “Intiation” by Thomas Typewriter

poetry

When I asked for initiation,

I did not know the price to pay

You reached out and broke my hand 

claiming sorry, it was the only way. 

To discard what I could not hold. 

To discard what I could not say. 

Honestly, I thought you hated me

for taking everything I knew away. 

Maybe you knew this and hesitated.

Still you struck.

Aware that without the loss, the pain,

I’d never choose redirection.