That’s Called Living

what an emotional roller coaster
today has been
awake with a feeling of
instant drunkenness
and oddly
bouncing off the walls,
soaking in every extra degree
that spring has been so kind as to
bequeath to us
hair disheveled
eyes bright
(from happiness or leftover morning tears?)
coffee #1.5
but high on the charge
and on the up, floating on
that bizarre sort of salt water
and remembering that
from sadness comes creativity
and random poetry
and spontaneity
in the face of futile hope…
that perhaps you might have control over your own journey.

you’ve taught me that the pen is truly mightier
and that Death has a personality and even emotions
and mice go to heaven, if they’ve behaved the right way,
that it doesn’t matter who you pray to, as long as you’re decent
and something isn’t worth doing unless someone, somewhere would rather you didn’t do it.

so you struggle to have a say, because you’ve always had a say
and why should that change?

and if you don’t
that might be alright too.
and it’s okay to be angry when you told the driver to go north
and you were meant to go south the whole time,
stewing in your own frustration because
your memory is fading and
you can’t remember how you like to take your coffee.

E’s note: The above poem is dedicated to one of my favorite authors on this planet and a brilliantly creative soul, Terry Pratchett. April 28, 1948 – March 12, 2015. RIP.

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