Passing … Time Away
Chin resting on a fist,
Thoughts meandering like a drunk bouncing off of walls down a narrow hallway,
Wondering what is one's worth alive,
One's worth when gone -- knowing well --
Knowing it (death) will be like millions of others,
Eventually forgettable…
Who can carry us in their thoughts all that long?
When did JFK Jr., his wife, and her sister die in that plane crash? FDR died when? Jean Harlow? They made the history books. But when did your great-great grandmother die? Do you know who she even was, where she lived? Is she already forgettable?
And when did that girl die of that overdose…you know her name, dark hair…help me remember. And what about that teenage boy, you know, the one in that car accident? Can't remember either? And what of that young lad in the wheelchair who passed, and whose mother will carry who he was to her grave. And when she is gone, who will carry her son?
We carry them for maybe five, ten, fifteen, a lifetime of our own years, as shared moments of those closer to us drip down the sink where
We refresh their memory with a cool glass of water, but
One small drop dribbles down our chin, and their memory briefly escapes us,
We wipe the drop away -- gone. Then one day, all those who knew me, knew of you -- gone.
Forgettable is the final design for the brief masses.
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