Problems of unbearable melancholy

They are always there,
the remnants of the past,
the ruins, the defeats and failures,
ghosts and phantoms of all those you lost,
old classmates who went under in alcoholism
or died in cancer or in traffic accidents,
leaving behind a hangover of eternal pain,
and worst of all: betrayals, shortcomings
and the irreparable loss, destruction, and affliction
in the bleeding heart wounds of injustice.

Is all that you can do then just to weep over the ruins
like a Jeremiah and complaining to eternity
of all that happened that went hopelessly and cruelly wrong?
No, if there is no other comfort in your old age
you can always keep on working till your death
and just keep carrying on until you die
and then at least have done your best until the end.

But there is something else as well.
Your memories keep burdening and crowding down on you
the more the older you survive in spite of all,
and all those memories are not all bad and bitter.
The best memories survive the best,
and here's the cue: you can go on collecting new ones,
there are no restrictions and should be no end to them,
and that should be enough for you to keep on struggling on.

Poetry by Christian Lanciai The PoetBay support member heart!
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Written on 2019-06-23 at 10:56

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one trick pony The PoetBay support member heart!
I take comfort in your cue, it is a positive melding of optimism and logic. It didn't have to be a positive choice, for some it would be a downward spiral to the end. I prefer your way. The entire poem leads to your conclusion, a bit like a slow-motion waterfall.