Inspired by Cheryl Doig.
That child, you said
was killed for stealing five dollars.
Decades ago now,
yet grief still fresh in a mother’s eyes.
What was his name?
No response could truly reflect
the value of a life snuffed out
blown like a candle
glows briefly
light flickers, fades
It gives perspective
to, well, everything.
These lines, these thoughts, the past, future,
A creeping sadness
if I let it come in.
Like a cat it wants to curl up
by me and follow me around asking for my attention.
We each complain as birthays pass.
We make jokes – light hearted.
But deep rooted, we are perhaps saying
I was better when I was younger.
How untrue, and truly
that is an insult to him.
To all who did not get that
choice of having another birthday.
So do not complain about getting old.
It is a privilege denied to many.
