when my time comes
it comes
and I will gladly leave
to those who go on living
the task of sorting out
the mess I have accumulated
over years

let them discover
not only the stamp collection
the bank accounts
but also unknown niches
of their father’s/friend’s/husband’s life
the words unspoken
scribbled on some paper
thoughts never shared
for lack of time or opportunity
the letters to a friend of yore
emails to many people
hints of potential
love affairs that maybe never happened
ideas to change the world
into a better place

here I am
  now with a 7 before my years
envisioning life after death

a sign of vanity
perhaps
or an expression of despair

I am not sure

it may just be
the fleeting thoughts
on a clear winter evening
when cold creeps slowly
but insistently
into your bones

reminding you

   of all that cold space
   in our universe
   how it grows larger by the second

making you wonder
if it has a plan
and if that plan
includes you
speculating
about your destiny

        * *

You were smaller then,
You called me Da Da.
Id pick you up,
hold you close,
Tears and snot, seeping through my shirt.

I wish I had that shirt,
wish I never washed it.
Id wear it always,
And pick you up,
hold you close,
And remember when,
when you were smaller then.
Praying that You and I,
would never end.

Words are nothing.
To the blind I say the same.
In action truth is realized,
In tongue merely shaped.

Both sides lived-
With sight and without.
Words have their appeal,
Zero comparison to heartfelt zeal.

locked-in syndrome-
the ending to conundrum.

senses are endless,
The confusion shows they're senseless.

Let the "ending" perpetuate,
In circles lie the debate,
No resolution to celebrate.
All the while, the "Locked-in"
May have a real chance,
at finding the voice within.

Words are empty,
Being can simply-
The way to attain,
A truth fanned into flame.
Where skeletons in the closet, may now meet their slain.

3am....boom!
Door slams, feet pounding on stairs.
4am....boom!
My household remains asleep, Only me and my cares.

They come in all colors,
different flavors,
unique fears,

No status quo,
different walks,
All sorts of careers

The business owners,
The urban campers,

The highschool dropouts,
Grownups still in Pampers.

Theres even the alumni,
with their bumper sticker,
All taking a medicine,
that only makes them sicker.

All the while, the thoughts harbored within-
Makes me think, this wall we share, may as well be paper thin.

I smell the smell,
Made a call with a cell,

No help from the ones dressed in blue
Just me and myself, seeing it through.

The war is mine,
The battles they own,
Let it end, before this wall we share,
Becomes their gravestone

When I was up,
Skipping cloud to cloud,
No one was found,
I sang for none to hear.

The next day I rise
Yawned-
and surprise,
It left me with just the Fear.

I cannot speak,
This voice I lost, left the day it found no ear.

The people stare
They warn beware, with-
Apologetic hugs, condescension in a guise.

I groaned and fought,
through exasperated thought,
A bitter lesson that was taught:
In murmured state, accepting fate,
Thinking-
"**** that voice,
Its incessant noise."
My Silence makes this clear.

Now I use, two things called ears,
Listening for,
My still lost voice,
Listening and waiting, for 30 some odd years.