I’m living someone else's dream, heaven knows it isn’t mine
I’m working someone else’s job, at the cost of all my time
I’m dancing to someone else’s music, the steps feel all so wrong
I’m singing off someone else’s sheet, I’m sure it’s their favorite song

I’m locked in someone else’s prison, they’ve thrown away the key
I’m wearing someone else’s expression, Lord knows it isn’t me
I’m driving down the wrong road, I think you know the one
There’s a light in my rear-view mirror, it’s the rising of the sun

I’m going the wrong way on a one way street, it’s called lonely highway
The exit to all my dreams has passed, much earlier in the day
I’m looking for a place to turn, where again I face the light
Shed this mask…throw wide my arms, and kiss goodbye the night

If a crossroads appears while on your trip, to your heart you must be true
Take the road less traveled with all you’ve got…at last you’ll really find you

David Kettler

This poem came out of a very gut-wrenching experience that I will never forget. It was my first day going to work at MK Battery in Anaheim. When I owned my own MK business, I often would take the trip out to Blythe and Quartzite Arizona myself and I loved it. I would leave very early in the morning with a truck load of batteries and the sun would rise across the desert in a way that always took my breath away. It always seemed analogous of my life in the great power and brilliance dawning into a seemingly endless list of possibilities. This particular morning, all of that was behind me. As I was stuck in traffic on the 91 freeway westbound, the looks in the faces of my co-commuters was one of blank abandonment. I realized that now I was helping someone else with their dreams at the cost of abandoning my own. As I was sitting there, the sunrise exploded in my rear view mirror and the words of this poem came rushing out. I remember grabbing some kind of scratch paper and a pen and I started writing them down on my center console right there in traffic. Tears were running down my face and I have no idea what the people around me thought…if they even noticed at all. The job actually turned out to be a good job. Like all other jobs, I very much so enjoyed parts of it while tolerating other parts of it. It was just that moment that was so powerful with emotion.

 

I’m last of the litter, the youngest of all
The caboose on a train, of children so tall
With brothers all older, and a sister thrown in
We were one happy family, and all next of kin

Everyone listened to what I had to say
no matter the others, things went my way!
Spoiled so rotten, my bed left unmade
The others had chores, but I sat and played

Things got even easier, when dad’s hair turned gray
The others got booted, but I got to stay!
All by myself, with the world by the tail
Into the future, I saw myself sail

Bags packed and ready with eager intent
I kissed them good-by, with no tears as I went
What a surprise to suddenly find
The world didn’t care, what I had on my mind!

I quickly found out, I must work for my keep
And have the bed made, where I laid down to sleep
Where are those people who gave me such care?
The ones who so eagerly, calmed my despair?

When you’re out on your own, I can now see quite clearly
You’re nothing so special, nor treated so dearly!
Last of the litter can be quite a pain
When often you’re found…at the end of the train!

David Kettler

I wrote this poem many years ago, probably in my late teens. I really like it though and I know that it’s one of my wife’s favorites which also makes it special. I write poems that I absolutely love and think are great, and Brenda’s favorite is one that has sat in a drawer for thirty five years! We always had cats and litters of kittens growing up on Ball road so I suppose that is where I got the idea that I was “last of the litter.” I know that I was spoiled…but in a good way! Now I am finding myself doing the very same thing to my last of the litter…Brett! I like the line…”caboose on a train of children so tall.” All my brothers are over six feet. Janice isn’t quite as tall, but she holds her own just fine! I remember the time I told Dad that I was moving out. I was around 17 or 18 and had started the Battery shop in Riverside. We were having lunch at Carls Jr on the corner of Van Buren Blvd and Cypress Ave in Riverside. I remember Dad just saying…”OK” and that was about it. He knew it was time and seemed resigned to the inevitable. Only now do I understand that he might have been very nervous about his greenhorn son going into a very big world! He did a good job not showing his stress though!



 

 I tried in vain to seize the day
It slowly slipped away
I grasped at life with all my heart
And found she would not stay

Dear babes I once held here in my arms
Now big strong boys of youth
My bosom no longer, their sweet happy home
A sad and wrenching truth

The feelings of my childish past
The times so light and free
Like trying to grasp a twisting fish
They quickly slipped from me

My youth which sprang just like a tiger
And pounced with all its might
Now rises ever so slowly
At dawns first break of light

Dark wavy hair crashing over my brow
Now sports a tinge of gray
Once proud ranks which guarded the crown
Now slowly slip away

Nothing I say and nothing I do
Commands the halting of time
The sun won’t fail to rise up again
The moon won’t refuse to shine

Slipping away, slipping away…tell me whither to?
Lost and gone forever? Or merely passing through?
Surely it’s all invested, in a future perfectly styled
Withdrawn from my own account
And deposited in that of my child

IT IS NOT LOST! It’s waiting…
To spring in eternal day
When time at last has come for me…
To softly slip away

David Kettler

This is one of those sorta downer poems about growing old. I can’t remember when I wrote this one either. It must have been in the late ninety’s because my boys were big and strong and my hair was already slipping away. That is my favorite line…”Once proud ranks which guarded the crown, slowly slip away.”  I like the idea of the hairline being a row of soldiers guarding the “crown.” And then think of them slowly retreating towards the back of the head. I also like the thought of withdrawing from my account and depositing in that of my child. I’m pretty sure that my Mom helped me with a couple of the lines at the end of this poem and I want to thank her for the help she often did in editing and suggesting on many of my poems.