Life is a Series of Funerals

Life is a series of funerals,
last week, last month, last year.
The little girl I was, no longer lives,
The daughter I gave birth to moved away.
The wife I was, would never stay.
When I was a wife, a parent, a friend,
guiltily, I knew I would stray,
But, perhaps I was right,
It was Okay,
today and yesterday,
it is no male or female’s plight
Or ability to remain,
in a single relationship of any kind,
throughout a lifetime to maintain.
To think otherwise made me a fool.
Nothing, so I have been told,
under the sun,
is sustained for more than a season
for some,
the end comes before winter’s begun,
It is the exception, not the rule.
There are no permanent positions,
This is a realization,
A fact that rules,
not meant to be cruel.
Something you,
probably already knew,
My sin, I confess this day,
I decided in one place to stay,
thinking,
to preserve my life on earth,
But, the wood is rotting away.
All slips through my fingers.
Nothing left from yesterday,
It has all changed,
only the memories linger.
Stubbornly, I resist,
It is not what I planned.
Perhaps in truth, eternity,
without beginning or end or change,
is filtering though to me.
From this never-ending evolution
I long to be free?
Impossible on this earth,
where the only constant is change,
I have heard this before,
but, in my minds ear,
it sounded strange,
even so, I know this truth,
to my core,
It is available to everyone,
Look round see the proof,
of it,

I don’t remember before I was born,
I don’t think I will remember,
This life after I am dead,
Just as I do not remember,
what I had to eat,
on Christmas Eve, December
nineteen sixty-four.
©2005