Poem: If You Can’t Watch
by Regis Boff
Every death,
comes with its particular novelty.
While birth plods into life
with a sloppy inaccuracy,
tumbling incoherently through
the thick, sticky afterbirth,
always shackled to incomprehension.
Still we guess birth to be miraculous
while it’s endgame, death
is reviewed as a misfortune,
accompanied by a chorus of “if only’s.”
and the tardy howls of loss.
But of what good is the marvelous,
if you can’t, watch?
Origin and terminus aside, it’s all about the journey
I am not convinced about the journey bit. Sounds too much like a booking on a cruise. Then again it is romantic