T R Wingfield

T R Wingfield Aug 2023

What If these
were our last good days
We’d ever have to live,
What would be
the purest way
To utilize their gift?

What if these,
your last good days;
We’re passing by unclaimed?
Would knowing that
you wasted them
Haunt those that still remain

What if you miss
the last setting sun
Before the supernova arrives;
And in an instant,
oblivion comes
To take up all our lives

What if you fall
to endless sleep
on moonlit starry night,
never again to wake
from sleepless slumber
to see the light.

What if these
are your last good days,
Before feebleness takes your mind,
before your body breaks
upon the rocky shores
of entropy and time?

If these are
the Last Good Days,
Would you count them all well spent?
What if THIS is
the LAST Good day?
Is wasting it worth the risk?

What if these are the last good days
you ever have to live?
What if tomorrow brings with it oblivion;
Or worse yet, a soul-crushing annui?

What if you miss the last sun setting
before the supernova arrives;
The last 8 minutes after the sun burns out
Before the darkness takes your eyes

What if you fall to sleeping endlessly
in moonlit starry night,
never again to wake from sleepless slumber to see the light.

What if these are your last good days,
Before feebleness takes your mind,
before your body breaks
upon the rocky shores of entropy and time?

If these are the Last Good Days,
Would you count them all well spent?
What if THIS is the LAST Good day?
Is wasting it worth the risk?

Oct 2022

RoseMarie

I Will Not Cry For You

I will not cry for you
because you don't need my tears

this extra salt
will not comfort you
nor give you strength

I will not cry for you
because my tears will not change anything

my tears will not bring you back
my tears cannot recreate the life we had

I will not cry for you
because you can't see my tears

and you do not understand
how much I've lost

I will not cry for you
because you were always above tears

tears are for the weak
who cannot change the present
and cannot face the past

and you are neither of those things

So I will not cry for you

I will carry on
into the great unknown
to do honor to all that you have given me
and to the person you once believed I was

but every day
I will cry for me
because all my life
was not enough time

#loss #grief #missing

T R Wingfield Oct 2022

Man, No One’s Gonna Remember You In A Hundred Years Anyway

‘Cause you  never wrote any of the good parts down
You just lived ‘em
and let ‘em
s
l
   i
     p

             a

                           w
                                               a                    y

You knew better
than to try to capture
the silliness in its hay day
because then you’d have
to face the facts of
the very choices
that you’d made;
and there would be no question -
whether it’s was worth it -
to waste the days by trading them
for nights of frivolity and frolicking -
Of frittering away.
What should have been,
and what is so,
and where it came from,
and who’s to blame
would all be there in Black and white,
instead of vanishing in the haze.

And in your own hand, no less;
your words,
a confession dictated day by day
of what, With your own eyes,
you did see
- All the magic and the wonderment of this tragic comedy -
through foggy lenses, bottle-thick and stained:
dreary ramblings in shadows made,
and heard and said
a many things
in drunken dangling reparteé.

{•:[\|/]:•}no one ******* cares{•:[\|/]:•}

                                          _ -====- _
                                      . + T  [ ^ ] T + .
                                   /  .•^•.    .•^•.   \
                                  |   <(•)  }  {  (•)>   |
                                  (..          /^\          ..)
                                   \* /|'_'_'_'_'|\ */
                                      \\ V         V //
                                        \\ ^----^ //
                                          \ '-''-'-''-' /
                                             * -_'_- *

                                          _ -====- _
                                      . + T  [ ^ ] T + .
                                   /  .•^•.    .•^•.   \
                                  |   <(•)  }  {  (•)>   |
                                  (..          /^\          ..)
                                   \* /|'_'_'_'_'|\ */
                                      \\ V         V //
                                        \\ ^ __ ^ //
                                          \ '-''-'-''-' /
                                             * -_''_- *

(Found beneath the body of the author, who was crushed by the weight of a megalithic stone- his writers block)
p.s. - I spent far too much time on the ascii vampire skull; but isn't it neat?

#momento #mori #vanity #selfdoubt #procrastination

T R Wingfield Dec 2020

Old habits die hard

Tonight, I drank
In revelry
To celebrate the life I've made;
The life that was not handed to me;
The life I was compelled to create.
Tonight I drank to you and I,
Despite the mistakes and the pain.
It's not the losses that I've suffered
Which remind me of the consequences paid;
It's the simple fact
that now,
Despite the effort that was made,
I'm left with only memories
Of days I treasured day by day.
I would not trade the ones yet coming
For any of the my other days.
But know that since you became my history,
The future will never be the same.

This is a response poem inspired by I drank by rozana
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/3705809/i-drank/

T R Wingfield Aug 2020

Sometimes we can't stop talking

Sometimes we cant stop talking
Try as we might it’s to no avail
We've something to say about every little thing
And we've no way to be sure
that the other can tell what we mean
And it seems like we never can completely frame
The point we are trying to make before someone chimes in with a tangential observation:

     See I don't think you know
     what I mean. What I'm trying
     to say is that the very thing
     your talking about is what I
     believe but a little bit different
     in some semantic way and,
     hold on, let me just think and
    finish my thought

    and then you can speak.

And then we are coming at nothing
from obtuse trajectories
analyzing angles of attack without regard for the whole and then there's a misunderstanding
and we start defending ourselves over a miscommunication,
your tone inflects a verbal retreat and mine strains from frustration, is read as antagonism, and then received as an attack
All of a sudden we are fighting over some misdeed that we've already tabled for the sake of you and me.

And sometimes we just can't stop talking.

Mostly it's me sometime I just can't stop talking.