The Things that Truly Matter by David J. O’Brien

Like a boy in the city of late Eighties
I know not whether I will live out winter
Wondering if the sickness already seeps
Within me, creeping through cells to fill
Lungs and take away all speech.

When it clutches my throat closed, what
Will I do, then?

Scramble to scribble down
The million words spinning in my mind;
A sprint to spill out some of a never-ending
List of works in progress before my last
Gasp a long way short of a finish line?

Or, instead of constructing imaginary
Monuments of the mind,
Should I spend my time in tickles,
Hugs? Taking every opportunity to
Transmit into my kids the love
Of them, of life, of little things to take note
Of in our ephemeral existence, all
Too easily lost, those that truly matter.

David J. O’Brien Writing the Science of the Supernatural¬†¬†¬†

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