Saying Goodbye
Part V
Epiphany
written by: Doug Stanfield (Hemmingplay)
@hemmingplay
I knew a guy,
cancer survivor,
but worn down by it
to the look of lacy bone.
A light shone through
his parchment skin
like a flame through
a mica shade,
like a mystical
organic fire.
The brush with death
leaves a calling card.
“I’ll be back” it says.
“You won’t know when.”
He knew what
it meant to nearly end.
It was an epiphany, of sorts.
But there was this
glow, as though
he had a mandate to
slap the shit
out of whatever
time was left.
As serious as
a heart
attack,
he wasn’t
afraid of
being forgotten,
just
of not being
worth
remembering.
It doesn’t have to be cancer.
Could be a stroke,
the kind of thing,
you try to explain,
to the lucky civilians with
combat metaphor:
“I could hear the whine of the bullet,
the ugly sound of it, like
something ruthless
hunting, hungry for a kill.”
Civilians. They’ll learn, soon enough.
You only know this
if you’ve heard the whine.
But it misses, now and then.
You realize
you’ve got bonus time,
but fear being forgotten;
you’ve wasted so much time.
But that fire licks at your feet…
You mean to slap the shit
out of untruths
in the time granted.
Make some noise.
Burn some rubber.
Make someone cry,
Make someone happy.
Be honest.
Be true.
Repent wasting
seconds of precious time.
You know not the hour or the day.
It’s an epiphany, of sorts,
hearing death whiz by.
It lights a manic fire.
But oh, for a time
you live sweeter,
cleaner,
in a holy light.
- Epilogue - May 2, 2020
- A Morning - April 10, 2020
- Giving Back, Reluctantly - March 20, 2020