Yes, Death Is A Fact Of Life Poem by Max Reif
Yes, Death Is A Fact Of Life
Yes, death is a fact of life,
but as I put up the memorial
web page for departed
high school classmates
prior to our 40th reunion,
it's a mystery where
they can have gone.
I just learned
about the demise
of half of them.
They seemed fine until then.
I didn't see any of them expire.
I only visited one in the hospital,
and that was way back
in our junior year.
As I look at their yearbook pictures,
something about them still jangles
like money in their pockets.
Laughter still sings
from the faces
of a few who were jokers.
One girl's still being dramatic.
There's a place where
my high school lives
just as it was forty years ago,
these people
still walking its halls.
This was a very good write. A write about memories, about the past, happy times. A write about how years have passed and it is hard to accept or believe that many have passed on. Yes, death is a fact of life, but it is an enemy and one that we never get use to....This makes me remember too of many who have passed on and how things change.
A famous cartoonist here in Canada, once said to me: 'All we have is 'now'.' iA great poem, Max. I feel blessed to be still here...having had cancer, and it has now returned, but will have an op on May 10th. I feel blessed to see the sunshine and all the yellows, greens magentas, purples in the spring flowers. This afternoon I go swimming - very relaxing in the hot whirlpool. Life is indeed quite wonderful. I am thankful for some wonderful friendships - I am a people-person and often go down to the boardwalk to just stare at the water and watch the people pass by. No longer youthful, it doesn'tmatter as there are so many things one can appreciate in one's maturity. Music I couldn't live without, nor poetry, nor dreaming, nor painting. God has made us a wonderful world - and there is alwways a favourite spot where one can enjoy true peace and enjoy that inner contentment.
I remember you telling me about your role in organising your high school reunion. I can feel every last pinch of nostalgia and wistfulness in your heart. A touching piece of writing. With warmth, Gina.
May memory restore again and again The smallest color of the smallest day: Time is the school in which we learn, Time is the fire in which we burn. [Delmore Schwartz (1913-1966) Great poem Max! :)
This is inline with my favourite of all poems.You have done a remarkable job of capturing a moment full of heart torn sadness for bygone days and then releasing it back into it's rightful place.Only now it has even more life then it had before.For it has been seen from the otherside.Amazingly well done, and tell that school boy inside of you that he is in top group now and has lots to be proud of.Love Duncan
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/25/2024 7:15:08 AM # 1.0.0.1119
They may have wandered off, but as your poem denotes, the essence of them is still in your heart. Cool work. Reminds me never to go to a school reunion again! lol Grinning at you, Tai