Friday, September 05, 2008

Verbatim: An Email to Cousin Amy

The email below to my cousin was prompted by her question to me about whether or not I still wrote poetry...? **** I haven't written poetry in years. I've sort of let that one slide because all the pain I was using for creative purposes has faded into the background over the years. Also, though I have tried to write poems, they seem trite, silly, and disjointed and I usually hate them. I cannot seem to get "rhyming" out of my head and that confounds me for some reason; it stops me dead in my tracks because I want to be able to break out of that mold and do something different, but I cannot. I still have pieces of poetry I wrote years ago, and I read them occasionally and hate them. I hate them because of what they remind me of and I hate them because they seem so childish and immature. My life has taken a much different course (thankfully) than the one I was on shortly after my beloved mother died. I was VERY lucky that I didn't get caught up in the "world" (if you know what I'm alluding to) of the friends I surrounded myself with. If I had gotten involved in that world, then I would not be where I am today. Even injured spiritually and emotionally as I was, I must have been pretty strong to resist all the temptations that were surrounding me back then. It's hard to imagine that June 15, 2009 is the 20 year mark of my mother's death. I still think of her every day and still, sometimes, decide I have something to tell her, and then realize that I can't. There is no phone number to heaven, except through prayer and the fervent hope that my mother can hear me and see me and be proud of me in her way. Anyway - I probably will not write poetry again. It's too painful. It brings me back to a place I'd rather forget and having a severely depressed, ADD-suffering mother/wife is NOT what I want my family to deal with on a daily basis. As it is, I'm on an antidepressant every day of my life now...again...and am feeling a bit better. Quite a bit better, actually. Much love and many hugs to you, my cousin. I love you! **** TTFN JMS

1 comment:

Unknown said...

This was read at both G's services for his family. Thought you might like it. J

The Clock of Life
by Robert H. Smith, copyright 1932, 1982

The clock of life is wound but once,
And no man has the power
To tell just when the hands will stop
At late or early hour.

To lose one's wealth is sad indeed,
To lose one's health is more,
To lose one's soul is such a loss
That no man can restore.

The present only is our own,
So live, love, toil with a will,
Place no faith in "Tomorrow,"
For the Clock may then be still.