D. Avraham ~ Musings

No one really understands me

Except maybe Mom.

.

She does,

Or, did.

.

Probably not anymore

Now that she’s passed on

Passed away, as they say.

Passed on, far away.

.

We spent a lot of time

Wondering

During those seven years

If she actually understood

Anything

Buried under that thick coat of

Calcified Brain Disease –

Alzheimer’s, they would whisper.

.

My Dad thought so.

He was convinced.

Sure.

That beneath that

Veneer of a nearly blank stare

His wife was still

Well

Still

.

Of course he had to.

It was the only way

That he could understand.

Cope in

His new role of

Trying to comprehend

What

To

Do.

.

Even when

Truthfully

There

Was

Nothing

To

Do.

.

No one really understands me.

But I guess that’s to be expected.

.

Since I’m not

Who I was

.

Not who I thought I was

Yesterday

Not even a shadow

With its boy in tow.

.

I once was a boy with

A mother

Understanding

Everything

Shielded within that protective coat of

A Mother’s Love

Encouragements, she would whisper.

.

She always thought so

She was convinced

Sure.

That beneath that

Imperfect exterior

Was the heart

Of a Hero’s

Will.

.

Of course she would always say

That no matter what I did

Or, who I became

She would

Always love me

Even if sometimes

She might not like

What

I

Might

Do.

.

Even when

Truthfully

There

Was

No

Reason

To

Do

So.

.

No one really understands me

And that needs to just be

Accepted

.

Even if I

Don’t like it

One

Bit.

.

No,

Not

One

Bit,

At

All.

I’m not a Luddite

.

I’m a child of the modern world

Born in the Age of Aquarius,

Graduating through

The generations

Of Me

X, Y, and Z.

I even know

My bit from my byte

.

But, what I don’t understand,

I just don’t comprehend

Is this need

For the leash,

Even if it does come in

Metallic chrome

And one’s favorite

Ringtone

.

No, I am not a Luddite

.

All my pencils remain unsharpened

Still wrapped in their packaged

Saran Wrap Cartons

My Bic hasn’t run dry

And the keys are practically unused

On my old Olivetti-Underwood

And the tablets I take

All have touch-screens.

.

Yet, there is something I don’t get

That which makes no sense at all

Just because

One gets some new tool

There’s this need

To chain it to their soul

And make it the focus

Of one’s goals

.

I’m not a Luddite

.

I’ve owned several cars,

Some old, some new

With AC, ABS, and GPS too

I played the mechanic

On a supped up old Harley

Even once fixed a tranny

And I am not confused

As to why my muffler needs a baffle.

.

But I am confused

I’m completely perplexed

Of this eternal truth:

The faster we go,

The quicker we can get

From point A to point Z

The less time we have

It seems, to enjoy the scenery.

.

I’m not a Luddite

I like my tools

I respect my tech

I have no desire

To return to sender

These new Secrets of Fire

.

But I do also want

The tranquility of

Noise that’s not white

And air that’s not filtered

And mostly I miss

Those long hours

That long ago were once

Just ours.