The Deceased

A Tanka form poem for those who have lost family members, and for those who have yet to fulfil their own lives...

The sick and deceased

Are the ones we think least of,

Unless we are linked

To the lives that they have led.

I'm sure you miss them dearly.

 

From recalling faults

To recalling achievements,

From the years they spent

You know these make them perfect

Right down to their troubled smile.

 

And now ask yourself

How is life really measured?

From the years you lived

Or simply how you lived them?

Well, that is for you to judge...

 

If I did the same

As you might be doing now,

I would have to say

That I have mixed emotions.

How well can I judge my life?

 

My life is decent

Compared to those that suffer.

I should be grateful.

But I'm not, I am selfish

The arguments I have seen...

 

What will you do?

Worship health tips or eat cake?

Will you moan in vain?

Or shout out all your troubles

Until your jaws start to ache?

 

Remember your dreams.

What you said you'd always do.

No. Impossible

Is a sly word for quitters.

Your life is too important.

 

You are not alone.

Follow your aspirations.

Then you can relax

Because when you are deceased,

Your forehead will bear no crease...

The End

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