Mind Poems

              

               Owed to Consternation

        [con- ster- na- tion:  feelings of anxiety or dismay]

 

What shall I do now?

I am old and my story must have an ending.

I have lived a long time and I like it.

Time to say goodbye is coming --- 

not with precision but with certainty.

 

Our brilliant chemistry and technology

means that far fewer people die suddenly.

We get sick and weak and lose our faculties,

but the will to live is like the sky.

 

I have known truth and beauty and plenty of both.

 

Though poor and abandoned I've been to Rome.

I have a connection to Michelangelo and the Renaissance

because I stood ten feet from a rock that he chipped and rubbed

until it looked like the folds of a linen robe

and the lips of God's mother.

 

I've known many friends.

I wished I could live without hurting anyone

and learned a great truth trying:

Can one sail without getting wet?

 

Life is beautiful, the world complex, and glorious,

excellent, amazing, astounding, miraculous,

so ineffably blessed and moving.

Those with eyes to see know that

we live and walk on the pearl of great price.

 

The world needs me.

I can save the world but I have barely started.

These things take time.

 

When I am gone,

the entire universe will continue without me.

The orbits, the storms,

ducks on a pond,

migrations,

the chase,

water falling,

endless cycles,

rivers flowing,

even in the sea,

secrets,

mysteries,

all without my assistance or observation,

without my reports, comments and opinions.

 

Rate the universe.

Like the galaxy.

Share it with a friend.

An anonymous friend really,

with a name, a picture, and a thought,

all from somewhere actually

unknown.

 

I want a special phone.

Make a call to deep time.

Let the cosmic process tell me

"Your call is important to us,"

and then the endless music.

               Johnny Pogo Medeiros, August 2017