You get to have a life review when you die -
or so I am told.
The hope of a do-over has me living here still
on this tiny blue planet on the far edge of nowhere,
with the thought of endless second chances.
Supposedly, when the movie of my life
plays out its going to be critiqued,
It will be hard to look away,
to hum quietly to myself
during the embarrassing stuff
pretending it wasn’t me,
just some bad actor, in a B-movie.
Of course I will play down the good,
smugness can take you only so far.
Meanwhile my search for God continues.
Perhaps he is a ghost in my movie,
perhaps the Creator wrote the script,
meaning again – not my fault.
I hope I get a chance to self-edit,
to cut out the boring, the mediocre,
the addictive crap,
erasing forever the jerk and the fool.
I don’t know why
all those heart-busting tragedies,
had to be recorded,
I’m more suited to light comedy.
I want that ghostwriter of my story
to admit he exaggerated,
to confess that I was never really there
in that long-winded plot;
that I was the sole audience
in his empty theater
detached from the muddle of a life,
a play that he deliberately screwed up
just to make me look bad.
Why openly express, share or write fleeting
feelings that can change like seasons?
Why invest in a future of just critical review?
Just be still and quiet you tell your heart, your
mind and your pen.
And it is that way for a while until.
There is something missing, and it starts.
Is it a acknowledgement that is needed?
Is it a subconscious ego that has to be fed;?
Or maybe just a passed on lovely gift that
is just enhanced by the warm sunshine.
It could be the fight to share something.
positive of a creative sort?
Then again a plain battle inside to keep
love, beauty, and hope alive no matter
the physical, emotional and mental
challenges of everyday life?
Each person has a story, song or dance
written or unwritten.
Their work can be judged but not the heart motive.
Because everyone's steps they have to walk is
complicated and not easy.
Maybe some of these are the reasons.
A book discussion group is reveling,
Delightful entertainment; always fun.
A bunch of book enthusiasts seeking
A monthly intellectual session
Expressing individual comments
About a previously agreed on tome.
A moderator will then supplement
The session having questions taken from
The volume. Answers vary largely due
To many peoples interpretations.
Because of this, a critical review
Commences that becomes a formation
Of closely knitted literati buffs
Whose views are never stated off the cuff.
Spontaniously thrust into the spotlight,
Cautiously catering to your delight,
Who's turn to keep me warm tonight...?
Finger pointing whispers surrounded the room,
Far fetched gossip I soon will consume...
Insults directed at me or at least I presume
You held my hand and led me through,
Kept me sheltered from the critical review
I escaped inside my endless thoughts of you
It's not my name in lights I desire,
or to be a lead singer of an orchastrated choir
It was you I wanted all along,
Would you like to dance, they're playing our song....