MAKE GOOD

I’d pick up the phone, my hands shaking
violently, I’d hold my breathe, my heart
racing as the world around froze
in anticipation. ‘This is the day’, a
happy thought would start building,
then comes the voice mail,
in that one voice I’d sacrifice the world.
Make good,

Everyday the wounds are
ripped open, every action futile,
every spark of hope quickly
extinguished and sent to
oblivion, the heart wrecked from
retributions. Make good when you
still can,

When the voice mail stops,
I’d put the phone down, turn my back on
the booth and trot away, every step weighing
tons, sullen; millions of thoughts Jabbing
in my mind. Perhaps tomorrow will be different,
my self consolation would quip. Make good
today,

We don’t appreciate what we’ve got
till it’s no more, we don’t hastily make
good till it’s late and there is nothing left
to be done.