The Move Poem by Jack Worthington

Sitting in a chair, a glass of ice water sitting on the floor, my life sits boxed in the corner
Each item given away, representing a memory
Each item kept retaining sentimentality
The half empty room sits nearly naked, illuminated by a large dormer.

The sunlight exposing places never cleaned
While I dream of places never seen
The curtain has closed on yet another scene
I wait in anticipation with sweat on my brow, for the next act.

The man will come tomorrow, to pick up the boxes
As I sit here waiting, I think about my losses
Of family and friends long departed
From my life they have parted.

Today is a victory, for I am alive, watching the sun stream into the room
No edifices to build, no paths lay unexplored
Tomorrow will be the top of the hill, a life alive and never bored
How lucky I am today, at 3pm, sitting here in this empty tomb.