Wednesday, November 2, 2016

Desperately seeking something

I can tell you about the pain

the torment

the fear

but is that all I have to say?

Where once my mind was free to ponder the intricacies of the universe and the human condition - at least as I understood (or tried to understand) - them

it's now consumed with fear

of what horrors await me

and regret -

most potent -

of what I would do differently

of the signs I missed or ignored.

Occasionally I allow a dalliance into the life I'd have

if I hadn't taken the pills

or if I'd stopped at two

when the side effects started.

The memories are so vivid,

I feel I could reach out and touch them

which makes me think I can change them

because they're still within reach.

Aren't they?

But then, I always feel this way

with every tragedy of my life.

For years Madison seemed to be just beyond the veil

a mere inches from my fingertips

just past the curtain on the plinth.

I know I want to say something

that will stand the test of time

and tell my story when I am gone.

I want something to stand here in my stead

when I can no longer stand

or speak

or think.

I want immortality in that way.

I want to matter.

I thought, when I took those pills, that I had more time

to make myself matter.

But Madison already taught me better.

...

We lost Andrew too early.

...

Yes, I cannot say I was not presented with the lesson

the question

of legacy.

And what will mine be?

A tragedy?

One defined by its ending?

By its sharp curve in the road?

By what should have been?

...

I see them sometimes - the children I might have had

No.

I have to stop there.

Even I have things I cannot share.

I can tell you about the pain

the torment

the fear

but is that all I have to say?

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