My life is in the middle of its story.
I know the beginning,
But I don't yet know the ending.
I press against the pages,
I caress them,
But I still can't tell you
Much about the story itself.
Am I telling the story,
Or am I in the telling of the story?
Who are all the people I encounter?
Why did they enter my life?
What have they to do with me?
Perhaps at the end of life,
I will understand the story better,
And yet my life is only my story.
Endless stories are being told at the same time.
Our stories rub against each other,
They touch each other,
And yet each tale is separate
And complete and whole,
And in its own way, wonderful.
Jack Clubb has had short stories published in publications such as Black Creek Review, Coffee-Ground Breakfast, The Magic of Words, Northern Stars, Opinion Magazine, Rockford Review, Sunrise, The Taylor Trust, and Voices From The Valley. He has also had several hundred poems published in the United States, the United Kingdom, and India. Jack is grateful every time an editor gives one of his poems an opportunity to sing or gives him the opportunity to tell a story as he writes feverishly from his century-old house at the foot of the Silver Lake Hills in Los Angeles.