What Matter to Me

I want to write a poem about things
that really matter to me,
about my mom and dad,
my nieces and nephews,
these are the things that first
come to my mind, then come my books,

yet, I find nothing to say,
alas, I always have taken them
for granted, for always being there
to be relied on without fail,
then I imagine their absence,
and the world suddenly becomes
darker and less coloured;

they are more irreplaceable
than Father Time, than myself,
even when the lights go off,
and I have these things in my heart,
knowing they are safe, sound,
continuing their existences,
their meanings, then I am alright.
Just alright.

P.S.: Wrote this years back. Looking back, there is something about it that is missing now from my life, my writing. Not that I write that much nowadays.