It Isn’t Just About Me
Sometimes I shop; just to feel I’m alive;
my purpose for living seems gone;
I live in the country, and have to drive;
since my life still must go on.
I watch TV re-runs; I’ve seen before;
to while the time away;
I invent reasons to go to the store;
just to pass the time of day.
My home has become like a warehouse;
storing things; I don’t want or need;
I can’t blame my hording on my spouse;
living alone; I’m a different breed.
I’ve been taught as a child; not to waste;
translated: I throw nothing away;
with reams of paper and jars of paste;
surely I can use them; someday.
In my old age; I’ve outgrown my clothes;
I drip food on my lap, when I eat;
I don’t bother others; I hate to impose;
from every victory; I snatch defeat;
Memories are now a constant friend;
both the joyful, and the sorrow;
at night; as dark thoughts descend;
I pray for a better tomorrow.
Although I think my purpose is gone;
there’s a purpose; I have yet to see;
sharing love; helps others become strong;
my life isn’t just about me;
Monty 12.27.28. # 3,126