You can’t take it with you
What a glaring reminder
In an era of greed
What a startling thought
If truly paid heed
Imagine a grand house
More beautiful than a
Designed with the darkest
Corners yet the most reassuring
Floorboards. A house with the air
Of history, mystery. The most
Comforting of lights and the most
Secret of doors. Like one of those
Mansions in Scooby Doo that seems
Haunted and scary, but the gang
Eventually realizes it was all a farce.
Yet when the bad guy is caught and the
Credits roll, we are still left with an
Air of suspense, like there really was
More to the story after all. It wasn’t
The end at the bad guy’s fall.
A house like that, a mixture of your
Mind’s eye and a kids show,
Is exactly like this life.
And we are all just visiting, right?
We will leave the house. The credits will roll.
And all the things we gather in this house,
All the clothes the wrong people commented on
The houses we didn’t do the dishes we bought in
The things we paid money for. The things. The money.
We take nothing with us when we leave.
Its part of the deal.
But what of the people we meet in the house?
We can’t take them with us either.
But isn’t there something always present when
You meet people?
Something between you. A 3rd party with no body.
An energy. A truth.
The comfort of company and old ideas shared
The awkwardness between two shouldn’t-be-but-are
first time lovers
The familiar sting of words unsaid buzzing around
The air between your lips and your father’s.
Manifestations of lessons learned and taught
Representations of the state of our Souls
Barely contained by thought and description.
We move among them lest they
Become incarnate and crush us all.
Because we couldn’t handle a weight like that.
Not in this house, not where we don’t belong,
Because we are only visiting.
And can’t take anything with us.
I suppose the things will collect dust.
I will grant that our dreams and aspirations
But I’ve learned to breathe life into the belief
That we won’t be finished.
This isn’t some mansion in the woods
But rather located in a quaint town.
I will venture out that great Oak Door
With every intention of walking down the lane
And visiting the neighbors.
And the notion of forgetting the lights
And strong hands of friends,
Forgetting wrapped up wisdom from old lips,
From young eyes,
Forgetting to remember the truth between the two,
Is not for me.
Yes, I think we are only visiting.
And the garb, the glitz, the good intentions
Will all stay. We can’t take it with us.
But I won’t say nothing.
We will see the end of this life.
But what will we take with us?
I refuse to say nothing.