Life

 

 

 

When people talk about how
you have lived your life,
will there be much to say?
Will days be busy with remembering,
or will it all be condensed
into brief snapshots of time?
Who can say what mark we leave
upon the world in which we live,
and whether, beneath the sheets
of death, we can be found wanting.
Was there some faint song which
was not sung, or paths which
were not walked,when choice
brought sitting, instead, by
the side of sullen, silent streams?
Did crows cry coarsely  at the edge,
of moments barely lived, and
years which struggled to be born,
in ways which would create,
make concrete and indelible,
the truth of who you were?
Perhaps it is in the questions
that we ask while living, that
we can find the symbols of
our Soul, and in the tracing of
those convoluted patterns,
bring poetry and music into being;
like magpies with their liquid
crystal carolling, and crabs which
trace in fine embroidered marks,
on restless, drifting sand. 
When the petals drop from
flowered hours, will they fall,
in gentle disarray as decaying
beauty, redolent and reminscent
of a life well lived?

About rosross

Editor, writer, poet.
This entry was posted in Uncategorized and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

1 Response to Life

  1. So many wise pondering in one place. May we all wade in the surf and write and sing as summer begins.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s