I hope I can continue
writing songs,
making pictures,
laughing over food,
talking loudly,
remembering friends passed on,
celebrating silence,
loving to be hurt,
aching to be admired,
becoming angry,
pushing a pencil against the paper
until the breaking point,
placing my foot on the sustain pedal,
minding my own business,
pleading without words,
admonishing myself and others,
diminishing my importance
against the unwieldy immensity
of this universe,
pressing my thoughts into the wayside
of all of my days

until the end
(which must come)
arrives to take me by the hand,
to lead me in a sleepy waltz
out into some decorated balcony
shortly after the sun has set,
to gently lead me into darkness
where I can no longer be seen
nor heard
nor felt,

my existence unknown
but not forgotten —
a small distinction
among the chirping crickets
and the vast operation
of all things before me
and after.



Copyright © 2018 John Grimmett. All rights reserved.

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