My wife J and I attended the funeral of one of our friend's fathers on Saturday. After, we helped prepare and serve a light dinner for the family, a job we volunteered to do so that all the family could attend the internment and not have to worry about setting up, etc. It was a wonderful funeral and dinner and I'm so glad we were able to help them; support them. My wife J was the true backbone of this support and I was touched by her devotion and commitment. A great, meaningful, worthwhile experience.
So I have had a few themes on my mind the past few weeks. I've been trying to formulate them into a poem. Here is what I have so far. Mind you, this is a draft; there is no title as of yet. Your advice is welcome.
We walk into each moment carrying the weight of our days.
Some are light like the gossamer weight of the wind
or the brush of small feathers against naked skin
or the tickle from an ethereal veil, parting.
Fortunate souls seem delivered from burdened loads,
a fact that seems unfair, especially in comparison.
For the many, good fortune is a foreign land
never reached, not even in dreams. And
the weight of experience is a knowledge of gravity–
they bear the sea upon broken backs and
their shoulders have grown mountains.
I have wished men to keep their eyes.
See the burden carried by the other.
Relieve it and walk their roads
even just a mile or so.
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