poem

 Names, Numbers We chop up time into chunksEither named or enumerated.Seconds and minutesAre simply numbered.Hours are a little strangeMostly a rotating set of integersExcept for noon and midnightDawn and duskMorning and eveningTwilight and half light.The days get their own namesHonoring the pagan gods of yoreBut weeks are just weeksSorting themselves into blocks of monthsWhich are kind of funny too —A mashup of names and numeralsAs if Caesar ran out of things to acclaimMore than half way throughAnd just finished it off at the end With a few Roman ordinals.But then the years are backTo being just numbersStacking up one after another Hash marks scratchedInto concrete prison wallsBut a lifetime is your ownA first, middle, and last name Bookended by four digit datesCarved into a modest gravestone Marking the place you ’ll abide For —choose a word forA Long Ass time —eons, epochs,Millenia,Forever.But eternity is only for the livingEspecially for the ones whoTrace your letters when they visit Your resting place.For them words are necessary.Time must be bracketed.We, on the other hand,Wait without waiting In this realm Beyond names or numbersWe resist the urge To even call it timelessAnd when you arriveYou won't be too earlyAnd you won ’t be lateHere, it ’s not quite darkNor is it very bright When you see meYou won ’t know Whether to say Good morningOr goodnight 5/7/22

Source: Buckeye Surgeon - May 7, 2022 Category: Surgery Authors: Jeffrey Parks MD FACS Source Type: blogs