All That’s Left To Do Is Die

No job to get up for,

few responsibilities.

I did what I could that

was good for a world of

the good the bad the ugly,

all were there, the usual 

suspects.

My daughter is fine, a

Buddhist too…all I could

have hoped for.

I didn’t save the world.

I apologize, but what did

you expect?

I helped a few, wrote words

that will reverberate down

quantum eternity, maybe.

I helped my teacher, Trungpa,

bring Buddhism to the West,

the best thing I ever did.

Concomitants aside, like anyone 

that cared at all, I tried.

No blue ribbons, no accolades,

living unknown, that’s ok.

All the poets, artists had to let go,

never knowing if what they did

mattered at all, except, maybe

Picasso.

Soon the words will stop, the

toothpaste tube squeezed out

and thrown away.

Sad and happy are only for you,

the living that remain.

Maybe the whole of humanity 

will be lost to eternity, the odds

are good for that, given infinity.

Was it worth it? Was anything?

All the questions can’t be answered.

Still, there is this cup of tea,

sounds of civilization and the wind,

and a sunset or a thunderstorm,

if I’m lucky.