37. Day of Rest with Jim Morrison

I got up at 5:30 am but couldn't move.

My feet were swollen and very bruised.

Six blisters on my soles & toes

From walking too much, to and fro.

I was completely bummed that I got an email from my bank

It seems someone has hacked my account and  this is not a prank.

So my debit card has to be closed,

Which is where all my money is, who could know?

I have to transfer funds to another account

And, hope this gets straightened out on all counts.

Finally around noon I decided to venture out into the City,

Try riding the Metro today and knock of the party-pity!

I'm going to visit the Le Pere Lachaise cemetery on the East

And pay homage to some of the well-known names, at least!

Metro six and change to the two line

Got there without a fuss in no time.

Emerged from the underground pit

There in front of me, the graveyard did sit!

Woman was selling maps of the dead

Thought I better get them without getting lost instead.

This is the largest cemetery in Paris

Over 105 acres, with monuments to great to list.

I came here especially for main  reason,

To see the grave of the 60's Jim Morrison.

You wind up through L'Avenue Principle

Follow the the corner of Plot six, that is all.

You cannot miss it, there are always fans

Some not born when died this man.

I cannot believe 41 years have past

I cannot help but wonder why his life did not last.

I believe that people of that generation have a bond

He represented a new way of thinking and of singing a song.

Bold and brash, a poet at heart

He caused commotion right from the start.

I got all choked up and started to cry

I walked away, sat on a stone and wondered why?

It all came back the memories of the 60's 

What is represented and that this was part of my pilgrimage.

To let it go and grieve once more

Of the freedom of youth as it flies out with The Doors!

Summer of 1969 and 1970 were tumultuous years,

I ran away with a group of hippies, not thinking to clear.

I was pregnant, pretty much alone

While the baby's daddy was never home.

I was on Welfare, living on San Francisco's Haight Street

Selling beads and filling in at the Filmore West beat.

I took up the money at the ticket booth

Then delivered it all backstage to the crew.

The bands thought of me as a mascot, called me "Little mama," 

Rubbing my tummy was good luck and good karma.

I remember so many that exist no longer

Either broke up or are a dead gonner.

Too much booze and drugs, bodies abused,

I saw too many die..." I quit... this is what I choose."

All the music and the stories flash back in my head,

I cried some more for all the icons that are dead.

I walked around this cemetery that is so full of history and pain

Of artist that couldn't handle life and or went insane.
Mystic enclosures it does invoke,
Legends of vampirism, black masses and prostitution are spoken.

Edith Piaf,

Salvador,

Modigliani;

Sarah Bernhardt,

 Oscar Wilde and Rossini;

Chopin, Moliere, Delacroix, Proust, Balzac.

Would you life change if you ever looked back?