I wrote this poem when I was in the fifth grade. I was listening to the days news, all the mean things people did to each other. Then I put on a movie. It was supposed to be a comedy about two old men. I don’t remember the name of the movie. All I remember is how sad they were. They talked about some of the things they did when they were kids. Some of them were funny. Mostly they were sad. They missed the people they pushed away, the chances they had to help their friends. They had money but it was only numbers in a book. Numbers don’t enter your room and give you a hug. I don’t know how it ended. It was too sad to watch it to the end.
I always turn to writing when I’m sad. I write a lot of poems, most I don’t remember and have to read them from my diary, or the computer now, but I remember this one. I’m older now, which means I know a lot of elderly people. Please I beg you, don’t call me elderly. Ma’am is bad enough. What I hear a lot of from sons and daughters is: I should have told mom I loved her more often, I should have taken dad golfing, spent more time with my parents. I heard one woman say she realizes that she talks to her mother more now that she’s passed away than she did when they were together. I hear husbands talk about the times they should have been there, how they spent so much time working to give their children a better life that they weren’t there were when they were needed. One man spoke of saving money for the day when he retired and could do all the things he wanted to when he was young. Of course he waited too long. He became bitter. Now he’s alone.
When I wrote this poem I thought it was about other people, made up characters in the movies. Now I realize it’s about us. Sorry if this post is sad, but some days are like that.
HOW QUICKLY RUN THE HOURS
How quickly run the hours
that decide our fate
from happy birth to showers
we find our faults too late
Before we really live
our light begins to fade
when we finally learn to give
Goodbye to all we bade
Debra Zannelli Author 