Ed Krizek Writing

Meditation on Buddhist Thought

                               In the room I forgot
                 ...the closet sags
                 with the sudden weights
                   of regret
                     —From “Thistles” by Philip
Levine

When I was young
I promised myself
I would never forget
what being young
felt like.
The first time
I fell in love
I expected to love forever.
When I was mad
I thought
I would never be sane again.
Now I find time
has worn away parts of me
the way wind and water
erode the permanence of stone.
Tokens of remembrance
hang on my walls
like museum artifacts.
They speak in metaphor
of struggle, love, pain.
I see these trophies,
remember
where they came from
but cannot feel
their potency
nor the exaltation
and angst spent
in their acquisition.
Time has passed---
I am older
have lived longer.
Perhaps this is the way
of the end---
slowly
losing a piece
or two.