Birthday by John Doriot

Image | Jay Brand

Birthday

I am sixty eight today

I feel old

I am ashamed

The three words which first staggered into my mind

after the declaration of age reflect sorrow and longing

which belie a multitude of experiences that come with 

being

 

Beautiful men and women

have not lasted this long

Their suffering worse for them and family

 

My father died when he was fifty three

My best friend died when he was sixty five

 

Parents have lost children. Children. 

How does one open the door to tomorrow

when such tragedy occurs 

Yet, they move forward, even when memories

remind them daily of sorrow 

 

The beauty of the world is always present

The darkness of the world is always present 

We have choices 

 

I know many who long for one more day or hour 

to look into the eyes of splendor, love, forgiveness

It is shameful I feel less than exhilaration

 

Rainbow blooms amaze me through the year

Mystical trees reach into the sky and into my body

A painter’s palette of leaves await in weather reminding me of life with its breath

Vast, wet open spaces of teal, cobalt, turquoise, or emerald green bathe me in color

Stone giants peak my imagination

 

I have a companion who walks beside me every day 

with pawprints of compassion

I have a wife who comforts me, loves me, stands by me

when at times standing by me requires finding refuge in a storm

I have a granddaughter who is a golden raindrop from heaven

I have a son who is full of compassion, honor, and love

I have family and friends who are joy and laughter 

I am sixty eight today

I am blessed. 

 

While the red bird sings

 

My friend’s declining health makes me sad

Age beats me like a hammer in the morning

My gut is an angry shovel used way too often

 

Tremors in her sleep make me wonder when

If she stumbles on our walks, I fall too

The snakes are not alone in the woods

 

My best friend’s laugh is an echo

The puddles reflect angry glares

The sun reminds me of a broken promise 

 

I become disillusioned, full of fear

Sleepless, sickness, break my spirit

Alone with thoughts hidden in caves

 

I have my eyes open but they are closed

Beauty surrounds me, I walk by it unseen

Yet, I stop by the grace of a breeze and feel joy

 

Now, I pet black and white fur

Now, I plant crayons with golden curls

Now, I project light into stars

While the red bird sings. 

© John Doriot

John Doriot

John Doriot is an award-winning author and poet. He has authored fifteen books and won six Georgia Independent Author of the Year Awards, of which two were for poetry collections. He has contributed poetry to WestWard Quarterly and Poems for Tomorrow.

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