I can catch glimpses
Of what,
“It all means,”
In the way an elderly man
Resigns,
To the bus, to the cane,
To biology and decay,
To the passing of talents
And friends to time,
Acquiesced into memory,
“Into what once was,
And can never be.”

Those friends and lovers
He thought of so frequently
In his twenties,
Where are they now?
Are all these people,
That I think of so frequently,
Fondly,
Destined to fade and be
Forgotten?

If remembrance is the refuge of the old,
The last, stubborn hobby,
If the price of wisdom is youth,
The accumulation of asterisk’s to ideals,
If the currency of passion is defeat,
How should we burn these fleeting days?

I am overwhelmed by the vibrancy of life,
Infinite emotions extending in all dimensions
Where emotional pangs are infused with shards of beauty,
And the sad, but required,
Truth of impermanence,
Donating value to all experience,
Wise people french kissing the present,
Cherishing companions
Before they pass,
Talents before they tarnish,
Caressing the untapped potential
Of the years to come,
For they, too,
Will be looked back upon.

My days feel like eons that pass in seconds,
And I try to cherish it all,
(Overome, often, by irrelevances,
Vices or distractions),
Will I remember,
If I am lucky enough to live, long enough to forget,
The people of my twenties?
I can only view them
From this hillside,
Now
A garden of humans
Growing into the future.

I am lucky to have outgrown judgment,
And so, these beautiful souls bloom,
Familiar smiles of friends, the inside jokes
Entrenched in who we are,
The things we’ve done
Together,
I gorge on ecstasy, on the nectar of lovers,
Pints transport me to a sea of moans,
The lessons and fully realized experiences
Of lovers who become tattoos upon
Our inner selves.

There is nothing….and
Everything,
And yet
We, so often,
Manifest and dwell
On only the pain–
No, I am not a poet,
And there is no poem; You
Are all so fucking beautiful

Be kind, be well
I love you all.

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Donovan James is a writer, musician, cat enthusiast and psychonaut. He is still an idealist, despite a ravaging cynicism. He believes that the money and effort allocated to war and fear should be used to feed, shelter, and educate the poor, no human being excluded. His work has appeared in Commonline Journal, and Monkey With A Hat On theater productions. His book of poetry, Saudade, can be purchased here.