Sunday, May 6, 2012

Sunday Afternoon Poetry #17

Good afternoon my friend! I promise not to keep you long today as I'm certain if it is as beautiful here as it is there that you'd rather be out enjoying it than stuck inside. I found this one as I was sifting through some other paperwork I recently found. I wrote it just over six years ago now; around the time I was getting clean from my addiction. If this is your first visit I encourage you to catch up on my experiences to give it a better context. A good place to start is here. I hope you enjoy today's poem. Thank you all for your continued support and encouragement. I cannot express my gratitude enough; you provide me much joy.

Will I

Will I save the human race?
Will I fall upon my face?
Will I ever find a wife?
Will I live a healthy life?
Will I know what's right or wrong?
Will I help a friend along?
Will I make the right decision?
Will I ever lose my vision?
Will I lose my will to live?
Will I have a gift to give?
Will I hurt the one's I love?
Will I die and go above?
Will I be jailed and locked away?
Will I make it through today?
All these thoughts inside my head,
Will haunt me 'till the day I'm dead.
But one question beats inside me still:
Will I make the most of life? Yes; I will.
Making The Most Of Life

-John Thibeau 16/Feb/2006

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1 comment:

  1. John - here is life from the other end :

    I am so old

    I am so old
    That I have an uncle
    who died in the Civil War
    I and my mother each
    the last child of old parents

    I am so old
    that my parents wedding
    included a chivaree

    to certify consummation
    In the community’s interest

    I am so old
    that the parental village
    carried my mother and father to bed
    and listened at the door
    with ribald jokes

    I am so old
    that villagers wouldn’t leave
    but drank and danced
    and demanded to see the bloody sheet
    and dad killed a chicken just in case

    I am so old
    that the field, forest and creek
    beside my house,
    as far as the eye could see
    have been paved
    for half a century


    I am so old
    that my father
    built the church
    that has now fallen down
    and the little bank that closed

    I am so old
    that the Air Corps bombing
    of striking miners
    could be seen and heard
    in person

    I am so old
    that I once thought
    women were reluctant
    to make love

    I am so old
    That remembering
    is
    Who I am
    >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
    David Williams

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