I have a friend who through a series of misfortunes became an alcoholic and began to say things like," I know it's slow suicide, I want to die. I really want to die."  And I said, "You don't really want to die.  You just want the pain to stop."   For her I wrote this poem.

_________________________  

Twenty Billion and Counting 

The universe took twenty billion years to imagine you. 

The egg and the swimmer, a physical beginning,

genesis to a series of necessary births. 

Your present metamorphosis

no less dramatic than leaving

your mother's womb, requires

a first screaming breath:

The Will to Live. Nothing less will suffice. 

The next forty years can be as varied and valuable

 as the first forty years---even better as a grown-up.

Only you decide

the essential art of forgetting

the miracle of your creation

only you to stop swallowing death

only you choose where love leads. 

I want to hear your voice for the rest of my life---

and that requires your presence.