Absurd, maybe
Absurd, maybe
by John O’Brien, Jr.
Thoughts echo, overcome my mind
despite my angry, useless thrusts to push them away,
on the uselessness of life
or maybe just my life.
Theatre of the Absurd as Beckett lived
theatre of the absurd, as I live
is there more? Is there anything at all?
Life is such a gift,
a once in a lifetime chance to impact the world
to make it a better place, for our having been here.
Exchanging one day, each day,
waste not, this unrecoverable day.
Let my actions cause ripples upon ripples
that span even centuries
I do have faith, in God, in Her plan, yet
when I fall in the forest, will I make any sound?
Is the world a better place for my having been here?
I just don’t know
or can’t bear the truth.
But even legacies don’t really last
in the so broad spectrum of time.
Maybe it just doesn’t matter
(but I don’t think that is true).
What would a wonderful life’s view show -
for in the 20/20 vision of my past, the ripples are so small,
if at all - at least what I can see,
remnants, or the whole enchilada?
Is hindsight really 20/20?
or even … How could it be?
You can never know.
Whether lack of awareness,
or confidence,
or a deep seated, unseen wall,
somehow self-built, without ever being even slightly aware of that,
(as the lovely Black woman sings - colder than winter, right here in my heart)
causes the emotional earthquakes.
But in the solitary office from which I work,
as I so, slowly, agonizingly, slowly, recover.
The ripples,
I wonder