One day, someone will fold our quilts up

Sent them into the laundry room

Rubbed that last grain of salt off of it

Open up our mails, sort them by the dates

Instead of by the number of times they were read

One day, someone will move the furniture inside the house again

Just like those chess players, starting a brand new game

They will open up those old shoe boxes

With our carefully hidden buttons from our pajamas,

The still usable batteries, as well as the hungers we have of life

One day, pains will hit us heavily on our spines

Starting from the weightiness of the keys of the hotel rooms

From the receptionists’ doubts

As they’d, handed the television remote to us

And, others’ pities will start from behind our backs

Just like how the moonlight followed those wandering children about at night alone.

There’s that scent of nostalgia to this one, and, it’s about the finality of life, about the sort of legacy you want to leave behind: would you rather just be a John or Jane Doe, who’s not made any difference in someone else’s lives, someone the world forgot after you’d died?  Or, would you rather do something, to make your lives more meaningful, to help someone out, so, you’ll know that you’d done something, for someone in need?

 not my picture…