Poems · poetry

“Not to be macabre, but…”







 “Not to be macabre, but…”

I’m tired and unfinished,

and I noticed,

that when I thought of calling you,

to kill time,

I couldn’t.

Because, you are dead.

Then I thought of someone else,

the same someone I always think of when I want to talk to you and I can’t.

You know, the person I ultimately end up trying to call,

 when you aren’t available.

But, that person, is also now dead.

I make calls that go to voicemails that are never answered.

Living and dead.

Screened, and unattended.

Voicemail box set up, but forever unclaimed.

Kind of wish that I had picked up more often,

now that I come to think of it.

It’s funny how life appears busy,

until it isn’t.

It’s a little known fact,

that prayers now go directly to voicemail.