Friday

Somebody

Some days I feel 
   like 

Nobody

Like nothing I say
     or do 
         will matter

(I think it's my biggest fear)

That when I'm gone
     And this life is over
I'll fade 
               to oblivion

Where nothing matters
And no one really cares
Or even remembers me
Or notices I'm gone

With no lasting changes

I'm not afraid to die
I just want to be 
   remembered

I just wanna be 

     Somebody

3 comments:

Jeremy said...

Very nice, and I am not even into poetry all that much--I read yours because you're an old friend, but you'll never catch me reading a book of poems and when I taught literature I rushed through the poetry section.

Still, that was a nice poem...

It reminded me of something said at the end of "About Schmidt" the Jack Nicholson movie. "Relatively soon, I will die. Maybe in 15 days, maybe in 15 years, but eventually I will die, then soon everyone who knew me will die and it will be as if I never existed."

Pretty depressing, really, that thought.

I suppose we find our legacy in our children who will, if things go according to plan, outlive us and give birth to a new generation.

And then there is the addage, "everything in this world will pass, but only what is done for Christ will last." It's a cliche because it's partially true, but I am sure that there are plenty of things that are done for Christ that have been forgotten.

And we work, especially now if we can knowing that many can't. Yet, work is an odd conflaguration of meaning and reward. I have recently achieved some considerable success in my career, but the demands on my time and energy for the monetary compensation and recognition put a strain on my relationships with my friends and family. As long as I keep making strides, the career rewards will be there I'm sure, but what if I could no longer do what I get paid to do? Would my employer stand by me? Probably not, and why should they. The sad reality of the current economy is that even those who produce can find themselves kicked to the curb at a moment's notice. Is this any way to find meaning? Yet if we can't find meaning in our work, why spend a third of our lives (and more than half of our concious lives) working? So we can provide for other things, I guess.

Family, God, Work. Meaning exists, to be somebody.

If people ask who I am, I say what I do.

But when I come home at night, my oldest son shouts "DADDY!!!!" and comes running down the hall; my youngest son runs with his arms up when he sees me; he doesn't talk yet, but he will.

That's meaning.

kj said...

I second that sentiment. Reminds me of the poem by Dawna Markova--I Will Not Die an Unlived Life.

vickyb said...

When you have family and friends, you will never be forgotten. Think of those pictures on your wall of grandparents long gone - decades later, they still live in our hearts and minds, as will we all.