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I love looking at old things...
lost negatives from famous photogs
fading in country garage sales,
precious parchments of Americana
decaying in dusty thrift shops,
tintypes of wild west gunslingers
hanging in second hand stores,
crumbling medieval chess sets
hiding in boxes in dark attics,
baseball cards from days of yore
sitting on antique store shelves,
rare bottles of Russian cognac
fermenting in deep, damp cellars,
and classic cars from slower times
rusting in abandoned orchards,
...but not at my own old mug,
staring back at me
in my bathroom mirror.
As one's life moseys toward
its end
there is a certain tug and pull of hanging on
and just letting go,
there is surely a push and shove of moving on
and standing still,
But most painful of all
earthly pains
is knowing what was once in our grasp
will never be again.
I am so sad for times I hurt
others,
and cannot get them back to say in person:
"I am sorry!"
I am so sad for opportunities
I missed,
and cannot revisit and take another shot:
"Why did I worry?"
I am so sad for the times
I was hurt,
and could not see past the pain:
"I still have much to bury."
I love looking at old and
precious things...
people in my life I loved and who loved me,
loves I must be forever thankful for,
my mother and father who let me live,
there were times of second thoughts,
my brothers and sisters who grew up,
though, not because I helped them,
my friends who tried to corrupt me,
oh, the times I should have let them,
my girlfriends, and too many wives
I wish I had done it right the first time,
my teachers and those who tried,
so much for knowing now in the then,
my children and all those so grand,
they are a crown for the now aged,
and my Lord and Savior who found me,
who knew I was lost and loved me anyway.
...but still not at my own old face,
and wondering why I'm still
looking in my mirror.
Philippians 3:13-14 |
