Crying Heart

in poetry •  last month  (edited)

Crying Heart

It is quite a world where someone you love passes on and from there forth a week goes by so quickly
But does not a death lie ahead of us like a cancer living deep within our systems?
We strive each day to inhale and exhale living life
As death creeps in and steals the breath of another
I believe in Everlasting Life
And yet, I fear death
Since last year my family has suffered much a loss
We are not alone in this
As Billy Joel sings “Only the Good Die Young”
But what is young?
“Youth is wasted on the young”
To hear stories of people in their hundreds doing what the young only wish they could accomplish
Is there really a number on young and old?
As we all live
Shall we die?
And who will remember us?
For we are all just a ripple in a pond bigger than any ocean
A pond filled with life
A simplistic beauty that some are rarely able to catch sight of
For what is terminal, but a word that defines us all
No one will make it out alive
And yet, with our Lord and Savior we are promised a better tomorrow in some place so very far from here
This temporary home can only give us a taste of life
We live, we flourish, and we try to take it all in
But I believe that no bucket list can completely be fulfilled
For us humans…
We always want more and are never satisfied
To be completely satisfied would give us no need for Heaven
We would have no reason to pray or to believe in anything but the materialism that can surely be swept away
With the most recent passing of my Great-Aunt Brenda…
We have all been reminded that tomorrow is not promised
Even for all of the knowledge that Brenda held within her mind
She was not spared from death
But I believe she is dancing now and reunited with those that she loved who went on to Eternity before her
Sixty-One is a young age
But I consider eighty to be young as well
This death, like poison, stings and it hits hard
So many lost to cancer
So many lost to things that we could never really begin to understand
And there is no determining this time
We can only control the dash which falls between the years
I feel as though I am a waste of that dash
I feel like a failure and a nothing
Yet to the Lord, I am someone special
As I pick my cross up daily and walk through all of the hatred that surrounds me at times
I am humbled because I know that this suffering is not all for nothing
Granted it hurts so much
A heart that beats within feels as if it is about to break in two
The “what ifs” “should haves” and all of the other bullshit lines which we fill ourselves up on are what brings us ever closer to our demise
Who are we to expect more?
To think that we could change the inevitable or to slow it down?
We choke down medicine
We work out
We study
We labor
We worry
We surrender
And for it all to end in dust
“Dust in the Wind”
I want the above song played at my funeral.
So many people will come to spit on my grave
It will finally be over
So then, who will you throw your dirty looks at?
Who will you compare your dollar bills to, to the one who falls and scrapes daily?
A human punching bag; gone.
Will this ease your mind?
Will you sleep better?
Will you come to my funeral and pretend that you gave a damn?
When in full reality, we both know that you never gave a shit to start
Can you bear your soul like this?
Admit for once in your pitiful life that you are human, too?
Admit it…
Dammit…
Admit that you breathe and you fall and you fail and you fear the inevitable as much as I do!
We are not so much different as one would think
Lies separate and manipulate us
They tear at our very souls and shame on us for allowing them to do so!
I am not nor will I ever be perfect
But I am brutally honest
To my dying breath I will speak the truth which is laid on my heart
And I know my psycho babble is a joke to you all
But I guess that I can be as cruel as you
If need be
You are the family that walked by at the funeral
You are the people that walked by at the funeral and acted as though we were not sitting there
We were hurting, too
Did this even occur to you?
Your jealousy, your hate, your lies, your money which has burned you more than once
I am not always such a kind writer
Am I hitting a nerve?
Is this damn microphone on?
As I stand for all of the Underdogs (which you have so generously deemed us)
I stand for the weirdoes, the nerds, the outcasts, the weak, the depressed, the anxious, the medicated; those who have therapists…psychiatrists…have seen the inside of the psych ward
Our lives are not pretty
Our days are not always great
But we rise
We rise to face another day
We rise to prove to our haters that they will never win
For, even in death, we will rise
We will shine
Are you ready?
Hang on tight
Because what comes next is a journey that only promises to be better…

By,
Tiffany Simar
4/23/19

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