What a crazy life—
to be born,
to think,
to feel,
to love,
right here, right now.
And then twenty years ago,
scenes in my head,
soundtracks spinning,
smells and tastes alive again.
The tuna in the ocean,
and the tuna in the can.
Alive in both moments,
silent in both moments,
I lift the spoon,
taste salt and centuries of the sea,
as I sit here,
watching the snow melt.
The cup of bitter dark coffee
sitting on my maple desk
breathes the same strong notes
of dirt and earth
as coffee from thirty-five years ago,
sitting on my nightstand—
Beethoven’s concerto in B-flat,
booming through the quiet room.
Maybe Rolling Stones,
the other cup,
the other me.
Whatever it is
that makes me me,
that makes us us,
must continue.
There’s too much life
to let it end at death.
Powerfully penned, Thomas. Excellent write my friend, I love the layers and depth throughout this one. Nicely done as always. Appreciate you.
Damian
There’s too much life
to let it end at death.
This is powerful dude, we just read maybe yesterday that scientist now believe life doesn’t end with certain bodily functions. Strange, we ave to get back on your pieces
wow. Thans man.
You have literally rendered me speechless 🤯 Wow, indeed!
Thank you.