Fortieth Birthday Post #34: What Have I Lived

Actually wrote this six months ago today. Been meaning to post it. Here is meaning. Sorry if it's depressing. It's not necessarily meant to be.

WHAT HAVE I LIVED

What do you want
six months shy of forty?
The CEO is dead.
Rich. Only forty-nine.
The rock star moans
in my earbuds,
self-destroyed,
alone in a Sydney
hotel room.

What do you have
six months shy of forty?
Thou shalt not
Covet,
but isn't that
what we do best?
The millionaire wants
what the billionaire has.
The actor wants the role.
The musician wants the gig.
Each success magnifies
what is lost.
They all want what they haven't got.
I go to the movies without
the fear of paparazzi blindness.
Yet they, yet they, yet ...

What have I lived
six months shy of forty?
Angels rest beneath my roof-
the telemarketers
love to call me,
just to remind me,
they know where I reside.

A clean bill of health,
A tax refund,
A stray bullet....

Some leave too soon, others too far gone,
overstayed, but they all share,
we all share, that commonality:
every breath is six months shy, six days shy,
six minutes, six seconds
shy
of eternity.