I slip in the shower, face to the tiles,
and think,
God I don’t want to be found
dead like this.
After I practice
holding my head up, shoulders back,
as if good posture
can somehow stop the inevitable.
After, pillow in
my lonely arms I
wait for ghostly whispers
but there is only darkness,
and quiet places,
street light illuminating
small spaces here and there.
Those spaces
are small glimmers
in a grand scheme.
I wish I knew
how to tell your story.
I wish you could know the sum
of all
these secrets.
Looking down the hall
is the same as peering
down a deep dark grave.
Simple truth is
we continue to bury those we love
unless we go first.
Press Send Poetry 
A rich man asked Sengai to write something for the continued prosperity of his family so that it might be treasured from generation to generation.
Sengai obtained a large piece of paper and wrote, “Father dies, son dies, grandson dies.”
The rich man became angry. “I asked you to write something for the happiness of my family! Why do you make such a joke as this?”
“No joke is intended, explained Sengai. “If before you yourself die your son should die, this would grieve you greatly. If your grandson should pass away before your son, both of you would be broken-hearted. If your family, generation after generation, passes away in the order I have named, it will be the natural course of life. This is real prosperity.”
keep up the comments B! 🙂