We need an app for that

I try to write everyday,

Today is a day; so,

I am trying to write

Why do I try to write every day?

I feel compelled

Why do I feel compelled?

I think it’s because

This life is flying by me

There is no brake to pump

This will all be over

In a few more heartbeats

That does not seem fair to me

There ought to be

What the Christians declare there to be

A place of ecstasy

Where the good of us go

After this life

Or at least a way

To stay in touch

With this lovely planet

Once you’ve been forced to leave

There ought to be a balcony

Where you can sit and watch everything

With amplified audio

Maybe someone could create an app for that

The dead could use the app

To check on a tailored version

Of life on earth

Tailored to earth’s action

Of which she had been part

It could be called

The Curious Ghost App

For those curious

As to what happened at the party

After they were called away

Once I am gone for good

People won't remember me

And if they do

What difference will it make?

They could write great volumes about me

They could declare me the greatest human ever

And I will be just as oblivious

As if they were saying nasty things

The dead I’ve known

Many outstanding people

Get precious little time in my memory

And when I do recall them

It does them no good

No record is made of it

Of me having thought of them

I’ve known thousands of people

And a few hundred of those

I've interacted with

At least casually

Several score of those

I have come to know well

We've become quite involved

They’ve learned about me

And I about them

We have told of desires

For this life

And begun to pull for one another

Some I’ve spent time with

Have no doubt died

Unbeknownst to me

And someday I will die

And many who’ve known me

Will never get the news

Of my death

And these are only the people

I’ve come to know

Consider all those

Who’ve lived

I never came to know

Many of them great people

Full of life

Admirable

With good traits

There were millions before me

Who left before I got here

There will be many born

After I’m gone

I will then be

One of the ones they will not know

But may wonder about

We live as if none of this were true

As if this life will last forever

We say to one another

I will love you forever

We think of the things we buy

As ours forever

Our property alone

Never to belong to another

But someday

It will go to a landfill

Be disassembled for recycling or reuse

Or become someone else’s property

I have almost nothing I can think of

That will be of value to someone else

Maybe most notably, the things I write

I realize most of what I have written

Will never be read by another living soul

And those things that are read

May only make the reader think

How pitiful that life must have been to live?

These snow days have been nice

Because it is as if Tanga and I

Really have connected a few times

I will reach out and touch her arm

And it might feel cold to my touch

She might say, your hand is warm

And I might say, your arm is cold

Those feelings are real

Those words are out of our mouths

Vibrating forever

I’m not saying someone or some being

Is recording what we are say or what we feel

But our movement

Among the molecules of air around us

Was caused by previous movement

And will be causing molecules to move

A million years from now

I cannot do anything

Not related to all that comes after

People really should have a way

Of looking back down on this earth

When their life is over

A way to keep in touch

To see how it all turns out

Someone needs to work on that app

ASAP

I would

But I’m too busy living