Poetry: Satisfaction

To one of the greatest conversations, your last.

When you can only look back on memories,
those that gave joy and anger, sadness and energy,
the satisfying sensation of rocking back and forth,
over the creaky wooden porch that overlooks the horizon of life,
you’ve reached the end of your journey.

What is the end of all journeys?

Alcohol induced drafts
Let it be said that satisfaction is a must in life.
Oh! The beauty of it, the joy of being at peace!
But only a few deserve it.
Not all.

Yet those who dare lay themselves over the tempting laurels of comfort,
Or death, for it is all the same, will have one of the greatest gifts.
They will have the peace of mind of being numb.
For they have ended the journey themselves, far too soon.

But not you, oh no. You stuck by. You told satisfaction to wait.
You negotiated with it, getting to know it piece by piece,
A broken puzzle in front of your very eyes,
It build itself every single day,
Until your last day, your last hour, your last minute,
in which you could look back,
and say this is it.

How can I forget when you told me? Never!
Battling through the pain, weaving in and out of reality,
Your words drilled deep into my skull:
We are all we harvest through life,
We can only harvest what we plant,
We only reap our rewards as time lets us,
And we only enjoy that what we have given.

Our last days should have our greatest gifts,
Memories. Of joy. Of love. Of conversation.

An incoherent truth, a drunken jibber jabber,
It all comes at a price.
Never be comfortable and face a journey of frustration.
Be comfortable and enter a world of somatic numbness
For comfort is satisfaction and satisfaction is the of all life.

Bernardo Montes de Oca

Author: Bernardo Montes de Oca

Escribo de este mundo. Aunque es cansado.

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