Letter to Myself

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September 01

Letter to Myself

I thought I would arrive quickly,

At the door of success and fame,

Now I wonder if I'll live long enough,

To forget my friends and my own name.

I wonder if I'll remember the envelope,

If I should run across it someday,

With a strange address I don't recall,

Maybe I'll just casually toss it away.

The letter I'm writing today,

Is not filled with disappointment and pain,

It's uplifting and full of hope and promise,

Of a life with so much left to gain.

This letter is full of texture and grit,

Void of explanations or doubt,

I cannot retrace each step I've taken,

But I cannot leave any experience out.

Maybe I'll cry when I read the letter,

Or fold the pages and tuck them neatly away,

I won't try to respond to the written words,

I'm not sure I'll have anything left to say.

A love letter to myself, it seems so odd,

But if I don't write it, who will dare?

Who knows my faults and my scars any better?

Are my deepest feelings meant to share?

Maybe, in the easy silence of some night,

My children, or a stranger, will read the letter,

Entertaining with a thrill of mystery,

And wish they had known me better.

Or maybe they'll dismiss my words as history,

Watch gray smoke curl upward into the air,

With neither contentment or awe,

Warming hearts with my memory there.

The letter is not important to anyone else,

A few toots of my own rusted horn,

Words extolling my compassion and desire,

Spewing gratitude for having been born.

I will mention the regrets left unresolved,

Moments spent cleansing my soul in the rain,

And end the letter with a reminder to myself,

I've lived through happiness that outweighs the pain.

A love letter to myself, a few thoughts,

With not a single poem or spoken word,

Memories written while sipping hot coffee,

I wonder if even I will someday find it absurd.

8/26/2009

9:54 AM | Blog it | Poetry or Writing

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