Thoughts on Death

I don’t like poems about

death.  There is nothing

special about death.  It is

merely an ending.  Every

story has an end.  It is

the story itself which matters.

Life matters.  How you

love it, what you do with it.  How many

lives you affect.  Too many

poets waste words

glorifying death, romanticizing death, worshipping death,

yet ignoring life.

Death can be

mundane, falling asleep for the last time in your warm bed

after a long lifetime, loved ones surrounding you, or

alone in a hospital bed with the beep beep

beeping its long banshee wail.  Death can be

heroic, sacrificing life to save others.  Death can be

tragic, a child lost before her time, or a

genius eaten from the inside by cancer.  Death can be

sad, an old friend who has gone before you had that

one last chance to catch up.

Then there is the death

pathetic, wasteful, and useless.

Suicide and drug overdose both are an

insult to every person whose life was

cut short, whether by

illness, injury, or violence, who strove to

beat back death for

one last lost moment with

the loves of their lives.  Neither

suicide nor drug overdose is

romantic or glamorous despite all the

wet ink spilled in a hurried rush to

immortalize a fool who chose to

tread the undiscovered country like a

holiday spent wandering the

amusement park complaining about

the long lines for all the rides.

I have no interest in death, though

I know that one day

the final word of the the final sentence in

the final paragraph on the final page of

the final chapter of my life story will be written.

I love life.

I love music and poetry.

I love watching a great movie in a crowded theatre and

reading a good book at home alone in the quiet of a winter’s day.

I love in running in broken-in sneakers on a warm, bright

spring morning and walking leisurely through

fire colored leaves along a shady trail on a

cool, crisp autumn afternoon.

I love meeting new people and

catching up with old friends.

I love a good game of baseball, especially when my team wins, and

I love playing a really long game of cards with my wife.

I love sex, singing, and a good joke.

I love my children, and look forward to meeting my grandchildren in twenty years.

There needs to be more poetry about

life, and less about death.

Everyone dies.  Not everyone lives.