Hadn’t realized it was my time — I’d missed my EXIT sign…
Original DDE™ art: “I Wonder…” — by: rob kistner © 3/6/26.
—-<§>—-
somewhere
in the journals of life
a number was written—
was written beside my name—
a quiet prediction
made by statisticians
and the calendars of time—
my shelf life
seventy seven years…
seventy eight—
seventy nine perhaps
a tidy place for me
to fold my map—
leave—
and they close my door
but…
my door never closed—
well — never stayed closed…
instead
it reopened—
I stepped through
walking on
beneath fluorescent skies—
my breath again moving
in and out—
so I move on—
beyond my use by date
…day after day
…week after week
…month after month
…now a couple years passed by
I missed the announcement
to please exit quietly—
so I remain—
making my way…
like an old dog
that refuses to leave the porch
now
like an old dog
my bones complain
like old wood in winter
my stomach grumbles—
flatulence has become
an annoying friend
fatigue drapes itself
over my afternoons
the earth’s begun to wobble a bit
so I watch my steps—
which are fewer now
the sun still rises
with stubborn ceremony
clouds drift the same
as they did when I was twenty—
wind still moves
through the branches
high in the trees…
as if practicing nature’s musical—
birthday candles still sell—
I just sit here
wondering—
not why pain exists…
not why time carries on…
not about its heavy gravity…
not about angels on pinheads…
but why
my small flame of breath
still leans toward tomorrow
no answer arrives
only morning after morning
opening its quiet hand—
placing another hour in mine
as if it had always meant to
I feel my road should have ended—
I now travel borrowed miles
I suspect
there was once a ledger somewhere—
a neat column of years
of miles
allotted to me—
my expiration date
a careful estimate
drawn up by invisible clerks
of probability
that column must’ve ended—
but my road
has not
it keeps stretching forward—
through ordinary days…
through their fluctuating length…
through season upon season…
through rain tapping upon the roof…
through the soft blue television light
of insomnia’s midnights
my body still carries
a caravan of complaints—
bones creak—
my recall is at times
a lost distracted child—
energy wanders off
like a tired guest
still
my heart—
that stubborn drummer—
continues its slow dirge…
sometimes in irregular rhythm
inside its quiet cavern of ribs
I walk unsteadily
very carefully now
through each morning
the air tastes the same
as it did in younger seasons—
cold…
bright…
intoxicating
birds continue crossing the sky
without consulting any statistics
light spills through windows
flooding across my floor
day after day—
increasing and decreasing
with extravagant generosity—
time continues
upon its relentless way—
but I realize
these extra miles I enjoy
are not owed to me—
they are only
borrowed distance—
in borrowed time
unexpected road…
beyond the place
where my map was meant to end—
where my journal was meant to close
so I move on—
…gently
…gratefully
…awkwardly
…and most curious—
like every human
who has ever
walked this beautiful earth—
wondering
—just how far
my road ahead
is willing to stretch—
how far the horizon
is willing
to keep stepping back—
…when does my journal finally close?
I wonder…
<~>
rob kistner © 03/7/26
“just how far
my road ahead
is willing to stretch..”
Far and wide, my friend! You are a force to be reckoned with.
Thank you my friend! From your lips Sanaa, to the ears of the infinite in the great beyond … one day the energy I have shared will return to the source, but it will not be gone, it will never be gone. The I that is me will have moved along — but that life energy inside me, is eternal.
Hi Rob, good see you! It’s been awhile. Love this poem. Yes, in older age we do begin to wonder when our page will close. Beyond into eternity.
Regards,
Pamela
Thank you Pamela… 😉
Outstanding sir! Both the words and the image. Very well done.
Thank you Christopher… 🙂
Honest and heartfelt, Rob, your poem resonates with me. A shelf life and a tidy place to fold your map – and then, Rob’s your uncle, a second chance, too good to pass.
What was so very strange is I had no idea I had coded on the table, until i was having a tough time that night, and the night nurse had told me I had needed to be brought. I have never been the same since
that and the overlapping Sepsis. No light, no experience of it at all — very nothing… 😐 …my energy and stamina are destroyed though.
Moving and heartfelt, Rob. We all start thinking of such things as we get older, I suppose. But I didn’t know you had coded, as I read above in the comments.
Well thank you Merril. I appreciate that my friend. yeah it did. My heart had stopped and I guess the lucky thing for me is they were able to do what they called, override pacing, where they just used, my pacemaker that was already there, and it just started increasing getting the rhythm back to the heart. They kept re-repeating using my pacemaker rhythm —- so That’s how you did it. I don’t wanna do it again because after that episodd snd then SEPTIC procedure — I’ve never had the stamina or energy, but I’m still here.
“my small flame of breath / still leans toward tomorrow” – walk gently into borrowed time, young man! Nicely written Rob ?
Oh, believe me, I do. Thank you Sean.
You are most welcome Lisa… 🙂