Joseph Liam William Thompson

They say we live on, past death, in others thoughts...

Sometimes I have meaningful thoughts
But I think I have to try harder these days 
To remember to think things
About the heart of the human experience
As I sit in front of brightly lit LCD screens
Flashing uncomfortable things
Un-meaningful things
Promising feelings that never stop by to visit
Sometimes I have to force myself to remember 
Which is almost more depressing than the memory itself

Sitting on a bench
The bench
A dedication to a boy who died too young
And whose name was too long to fit in my brain
Joseph Liam William Thompson
In a cemetery, little
A quaint graveyard overlooking the whole valley
Overseeing the world
I sat above the daffodils only for the experience
Clutching my own arms because
I thought the wind was colder than death
And I had no respect in myself to give
No gifts but the promise that I would memorize the name of a stranger
Joseph Liam William Thompson
Died at age three in 2007
The sun fell, bounced and ricocheted in gold
Off of the dusty surfaces of century old stones
And the mistletoe laden trees casting long shadows
Like fingers reaching for the sun 
As its brilliance subsided
And I was left shivering on a bench
Thinking I might die there
Thinking about lying next to Joseph
Collecting dirt in my pores
Breathing earth
Overlooking the whole world
I thought I might hold Joseph's hand one day
In heaven we would look eye to eye
He might cry
And I would have little to give or say
But his old given name
Joseph Liam William Thompson

Sometimes I forget
Mind crowded by the snowy fuzz of vacancy
Sometimes I think I've forgotten 
Forgetfulness by thoughtlessness 
And in those moments the world is nothing 
But age-reversal creams, greeting cards, slot machines, and the giant screens that emit the illusion of what it means to be human 
It's getting harder to remember 
It's getting difficult to think meaningful thoughts
But I suppose if Joseph were in my place 
Joseph Liam William Thompson
He would think about me 
And isn't that what being human means?

The End

0 comments about this poem Feed