Sensory Overload

when people lose loved ones
they're not really lost
most of the time they know
right where to find
what's left of them
in cemeteries, mausoleums, urns or
ashes spread to the wind

existing as memories in minds
inherited traits and dispositions in relatives
photos and films
property passed on to the next generation

what they can't recover are conversations
unless they believe in the hereafter
can communicate whenever they feel
the need
overtake them in daily pondering

as for me
I take a cold detached view of death
haven't heard cries from beyond
this mortal veil

I feel the death of friend or family
would not reduce me to a quivering mass
of inconsolable jelly
nor leave me lamenting why

a murder or negligence would disturb me
lead me to hold the perpetrator responsible
as life is short enough without letting
the lazy or callous dictate
when it should end

these are all theoretical constructs still
I've been fortunate to this point
all of my immediate family alive
no terminal illness hanging over them

as I grow older the awareness of death
grows stronger within me
grandparents, aunts, uncles, die off
each year I hear of more funerals

yesterday I visited my grandmother
she's 91 and just had her first cavity filled
I doubt she heard much of what I said
yet I still heard her questions
and we both nodded a lot

I don't fear my own death
no fan of pain either
when put under anesthesia
it felt as if I wouldn't regain consciousness

what I fear most is not living
plodding along from day to day
existing as a place marker
a walking grave stone where
my former exuberant self once existed

I see people plopped in front of the TV
flipping channels
needing a warm media companion to fill
the lonely void in their life

I hear tales of young women
who cut and purge themselves
in response to their sense of emptiness
pain and control let them know they're alive

I find it disgusting yet know
how easy it is to slip off the track
you've been so smoothly chugging along
gluing together the pieces of
fragile eggshell ego
is not always successful

how many of us
shrink from those
whose burdens threaten our own stability
we sense the black pull of death upon them
leave enough distance between us so
we're not drawn down into the black hole

I click and clack on the computer
perhaps hoping that each keystroke will
build upon each other to the point
where enough megabytes have clustered
to leave a legacy that won't easily be
erased

yet I know my words are lost
among the masses
everyone clamoring for attention
blinking flashing neon backgrounds
compete for our sensory overload

disasters from across town and throughout the world
bombard us daily
the basis of small talk
perhaps I've grown cold to death as I've been
saturated by it

if not up close and personal
death has weaved its way deep into my consciousness
what I wouldn't give for quiet dinner conversation
among friends and family
just not sure what
we'd have to talk about