Letting Go

There's got to be a letting go of what I cannot do,
If I'm to have remaining life that thrives ’round here with you;
I saw it when flood-waters rose and all was gone one day –
The numbness on that fellow's face as all got washed away.

Some young kid said, “I'll travel light, so I don't go this way”.
Sounds good I guess, avoiding loss so tears don't have their say;
But what is life if we don't have relationships, and things,
And joy that floods our hearts and minds which thought and concept brings?

I note he had a backpack on, like us back at the start –
Our rucksacks from our Europe trip was all when we embarked
Upon our journey to the north just forty years this year –
A DC-3 removed our stuff when we moved south, then here.

I listed out one hundred things to do before I die,
Three years ago when cancer hit – I focused with a sigh,
Then trimmed that list when time looked short – just like this guy in the flood;
For after all we've feet of clay and bog down in the mud.

It's not just value in the things, but value over time –
For everything we have and do takes energy and mind;
Things rust and break, out-date, loose parts, and fall beside the way;
As we move on new stages come, dawn breaks – a brand-new day.

New parts of life require new things, relationships, and thoughts;
New things to do, new worlds to see beyond what we've been taught;
So old things pass away from us, like Teddy on the floor
As we head off to start again, pass through dividing door.

It takes some time to break those ties of feelings we have had,
So we can reinvest them, process makes us feel quite sad;
But time has come to sort things out so we can travel light;
Let go of future we'll not do, so what we have's just right.

But how much time remains for us? That is a great unknown,
Just like that guy with leprosy – no harvest where he'd sown;
Life changes course quite fast sometimes and then it’s all turned round,
Just like my dad right at the end – four months to look around.

The headline in the paper read, “I hope we save it all”,
Referring to the flood, of course, as dikes were built so tall;
But in those words I humour saw of life for me these days –
“I hope to save it all”– for what? And when? My self now says.

But where to start? duration is not known – how long our time?
Will we be packed to leave this world and waiting in some line?
Or vegetating in some home, count patterns on the wall,
All ship-shape, no residuals – why that's no life at all!

I like the poem mother spoke – Ulysses and his men –
Who sailed the darkling seas with joy right to their glorious end;
Some folks take wings, some put down roots, but both face choice like me;
We share our vote with other folks – step back or go to sea?

If I had held the course I took, this month I would retire;
These forty years have passed away like junk in northern fire
That burned three days and through the nights three days before we left,
Consuming all our gathered junk – and we were not bereft.

For end had come – we traveled on – beginning of an end;
We could not see the life we'd have which waited round the bend;
But hey! We lived and made our way and faced each coming day;
It's time once more to make a choice, select upcoming way.

As I take up my bucket list, prune what is left to do,
A hundred things flowed from my pen, priorities were few;
Perhaps a matrix over time – “important”, “not so much”,
And see just what remains for me, especially if rushed.

I know all this – like what I'll do, and who I am today,
I know where I will go and when – right-brain affects my way;
So let's just see what's on the list with top priority,
And let the rest just wash away in rivers to the sea.

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