Death

I have been writing a bit of poetry lately, thinking I'll just add it to Speculativity, my little book of poetry at Lulu.com, when I have a new little body of it. Day before yesterday I put down something that had flown into my head whilst walking the dog. I am not depressed, by the way. I'm not contemplating anything, other than life: I am as hopeful and as positive in my feelings for my family, my friends, and myself as I have ever been, and anyone who knows me knows that I persist in being optimistic to a fault. But this poem grew legs along with my own as I stretched them alongside the clicking of MacGuyver's claws on the pavement in the silence of the winter afternoon. It's a short one so I'll share it here.

Last night I died.

Alone I walked up a steep road

I had never seen before,

All light behind, none ahead.

There were no gates,

Pearly or otherwise.

No one waited.

No angels sang.

I am dead.

Last night my older brother Ed called and told me that our brother Bill had been killed in a motorcycle accident. I have a lot to say about that, but I'll say it to my own conscience rather than air it publicly. I do encourage you to hold on to those who are dear to you and to show them as often as possible that you love them. That's what matters.

Bill was on the right in this picture, in the "Men Will Be Men" tee-shirt. My dear older brother Ed is in the middle: