Let Someone Else Tell Your Story

If I were to sing for you a new song, would you let me?

If I spoke words in a thousand languages, would you want to know what I said?

If I made an urgent call to the wild, would you come running?

These are random questions without consequence.

No one has written algorithms to answer those questions.

You would have more success playing Connect the Dots 

than to understand what I’m saying. In a sense, I suggest our world makes no sense.

Every question implies, intimates, solicits an answer.

And every answer should reveal truth that represents pretext.

If I said to you, have you taken to recall the morning of your first day 

and the evening of what will be your last day, would answer, yes?

Dare I reply, no, you have not. My answer, certainly not disingenuous.

You should care about the morning of your first day and the evening of your last day.

Is there anything more important than the fact you lived 

the morning of your first and the evening of what will be your last day,

never to live either of them again.

The point I’m making is to stop trying to answer life’s questions.

May I suggest you focus on living after your birth and before your death.

For as sure as your life began, it will end. Far be it for me to tell you otherwise, yet I will.

Never remove the first and last slice from a loaf of bread.

They represent the beginning and end of all that is between them.

For once, imagine two books: one at the beginning and the other at an end.

In-between both books are all there is to know between them all.

Your life comprises what is in-between your first morning, and the evening of your last day.

I’m asking you to live, just live. Enjoy life. Make the very, very, very best of life.

Let someone else retell your story.


© emmett wheatfall


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