The Sum Of All Parts (Poetry)

For Alan Rickman

On days like these life feels akin to fiction —
all small-town scenes and half-heard dialogue
a bit part in a larger play long-written
by some guy claiming he’s the hand of God.

Reality’s a script subject to changes
Death’s random editor cuts frame by frame —
kills off our stars and coldly rearranges
the scenery — paints out a well-loved name.

The credits roll ... most characters forgotten
for good reviews will crumble — turn to dust
performances take second place to plotting
the show goes on — life’s contract states it must.

The spotlight falls on hosts of fresh new faces
whose talents shine — ignite a screen or two
but on days like these a keen nostalgia chases
where Truly, Madly, Deeply waits its cue.