Poem 13
I don’t know what I think of the fear.
I have always felt comfortable
near the edge of “doin right”.
The end of life got my father
15 years earlier than I am.
I have watched the vibrant,
the loving
and the so much alive
pass in the blink of an eye.
Do I deserve the more I have?
It’s a silly question.
I find afraid is
An imposter.
So I step into silent forces
Each day unawares
Being willing to be surprised
Or calmed
Or satisfied.
Even to whisper
Final words Like
James Dean’s
“We’re not going to
Make it.”
Not even knowing
The mess
He just made.
I am willing to sleep
In the arms of a God
I cannot comprehend,
I care not about
My tiny last step.
I have have had
so many
Greater ones.