Poems by Pat Fleming

Those things that meant the most to me
Are no longer in my life.
And those people most important
Have vanished now from sight.

Future hopes and longing dreams
Simply don't exist.
And that person who I used to be
Is someone I sadly miss.

Memories of my former life
Leave my heart in pain
And remind me of reality
And that everything must change.

This world can be so fickle.
One day you fade from all their minds.
You're not needed or acknowledged;
They just leave you far behind.

I've struggled through some desperate times,
Through raging storms and seas.
My life has been an uphill climb.
I didn't make it here with ease.

Old age has been a state I've earned.
It's a feat that I've survived.
I made mistakes but learned from them,
And I say that now with pride.

So where are my gold medals?
My name up there in lights?
I was not the smartest or the prettiest,
But I fought a darn good fight!

Where is all the grand applause
And shouts of "Way to go!"?
Where are all the kudos
That I feel that I am owed?

Then I will sing my praises,
Give myself a big high five!
You fought the fight quite valiantly,
And you're still well and quite alive.

You are someone with a heart of gold
And a soul that's kept its light.
You have loved and lost and sacrificed.
You weren't perfect, but you tried.

And I proclaim to all aged folks
Who have lived beyond four score,
You are truly Golden Heroes,
And may you survive a hundred more!

She waves for my attention,
So free upon the breeze.
The sun reflects her stars and stripes,
As proud as she can be.

She tells a tale of people lost,
Who came to find their way
And carried on through every loss,
To bring us here today.

She reminds me of the brave who fought
To keep our country strong
And shouts at me of victories
To right egregious wrongs.

She whispers to our children
Of all this country has to give
And begs that they stand up for her
And give thanks for how they live.

She cries to me of apathy,
Of prejudice and hate,
Of disrespect for what she stands,
And a Constitution we forsake.

She demands that I acknowledge her
And what she means to me
And dares me to imagine life
If she should cease to be.

And still in Glory she unfurls
And gives me hope again
For a people reunited,
And a country on the mend.

So each time I see her wave at me,
I'll stop and gaze above
And take a moment to respect
This country that I love.

Each day we wake is such a gift;
No moment's guaranteed.
Tomorrow isn't promised,
But to fate we must concede.

We cannot know our futures,
How long or short our lives.
We simply do the best we can
Until the end arrives.

And in life, what's most important,
In the scheme of every day,
Are the people who stand by our sides
As we venture on our way.

Those cherished, loyal, patient souls,
Who take us as we are,
Who look beyond our foolishness,
Our frailties and our scars.

How often do we take the time
To lay our hearts down bare
And tell them how we truly feel
And just how much we care?

Do we freely give a compliment
And acknowledge efforts made?
Or do our own quite fragile egos
Make us feel far too afraid?

Have we tried to overcome our pride
And forgive another's wrongs?
Or do we cling to hurt and anger
And carry grudges far too long?

Do we share our blessings willingly
With those who are in need?
Or do we hoard our own good fortune
Out of selfishness and greed?

It's the people all around us
Who make us who we are.
It is they who save our erring souls
And fill our lonely hearts.

So it's time we show some gratitude
And not wait another day.
For before we even know it,
Our chance may slip away.

It's past time to say I love you
And forgive another's sins.
We must let ourselves be vulnerable
By letting others in.

For one day, tomorrow will not come;
We may not meet again.
For inevitably, for each of us,
It all comes to an end.

So go ahead and say the words;
Make today a start.
Don't regret your silence;
Share the language of your heart.

Seven AM and I sat at the light,
Watching the train chugging by.
A day like the rest, on the way to my job,
Just routine with no feeling inside.

The morning was frigid and snowy,
Just thinking how cold he must be.
But there I could see him wrapped up on the stoop,
In that blanket he found on the street.

That cold, concrete stoop, at that old, empty store,
The place that for years he called home.
He sat there each day, never meeting your eyes,
Just contented to be left alone.

The weeds by the tracks were his bathroom,
His food was a bottle of wine.
His clothes were all dirty and tattered.
He was drunk or passed out all the time.

To see him you'd think he was no one.
He was barely a man anymore.
A failure to the ones who once loved him,
And a burden to the rest of the world.

But those who once knew him in the days long gone by
Would tell you how wrong you would be.
For in fact, it's quite true that this lost, broken soul
Was once just like you and like me.

He woke up every morning in a home of his own
That he shared with his son and his wife.
He worked every day as a painter by trade
And thanked God every night for his life.

People who watched him admired his ways.
He was caring and decent and good.
He worked harder than most to provide for his son,
And for neighbors he did what he could.

Life was a struggle, and times could be bad,
But he always found strength to go on.
He wanted the best for the people he loved,
Never dreaming that soon they'd be gone.

It happened in winter on a dark, snowy day,
In a storm that had moved in quite fast
That his wife ventured forth to pick up their son,
And neither survived when they crashed.

From the day they were buried his friends rallied round,
But he was lost despite how much they tried.
And even today when they speak of him still,
They say it's as if they all died.

And when I last sat at that light, by that stoop,
I saw he was no longer there.
The store still sat empty and was now boarded up,
And I wondered if anyone cared.

But later I learned on that stoop where he lived,
That place that he once made his home
He too passed away on one cold winter's day,
Long forgotten and left quite alone.

So should you pass by a lost soul such as this,
Be careful how harshly you judge him.
For you can't ever know how loved he once was,
Or how valued his life may have been.