Conversations

When I was a young boy, I had a conversation with my mother.

I asked her why she gave me the nickname "Chipmunk,"

And she said it was because I had the eyes of a chipmunk,

Bright and curious and full of life,

And then she tucked me in bed, and, with a smile on my face,

I closed my eyes and went to sleep.

 

When I was a teenager, I had a conversation with my girlfriend.

I asked her what she liked about me,

And she patted my cheek and said that I was cute,

And then she told me to be quiet,

And she pressed her body close to mine, and, with a blank look on my face,

I closed the blinds and went to sleep.

 

When I was an adult, I had a conversation with my wife.

I asked her where she went every night,

And she gave me a strange look and told me not to worry,

And she grabbed her bag

And left the house again, and, with a sad look on my face,

I walked to our room alone and went to sleep.

 

When I was an old man, I had a conversation with my nurse.

I asked her if I had any letters or visitors,

And she fixed my pillows and said not today,

And she quickly fed me my dinner,

Which was soft and tasteless, and, with tears on my face,

I drowned out the world and went to sleep.

 

When I was on my deathbed, I had a conversation with myself.

I asked myself where I had gone wrong

And why I was all alone with no one to comfort me,

But I had no answer

And was so very frustrated, and, with a hopeless look on my face,

I surrendered to darkness and went to sleep.

 

When I was a dead soul at the Heavenly Gates, I had a conversation with God.

I asked Him where He had been my whole life,

And He told me that He was always there, crying with me,

And He wrapped me in His arms,

Which I recognized as the ones that held me every night in my misery, and, with tears on my cheeks

And a smile on my face,

I closed my eyes and went to sleep.

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