A poem that describes my feelings about leaving a legacy.
All of a Sudden
Sometimes it is not just an all of a sudden thing,,nor is it something building up to an inglorious crescendo.
Time rolls out like the sea without so much as a whisper. No foretelling and no stories told afterward.
The nameless unaccomplished lie raveled in the grains of sand on an endless beach. There is no grand message left as a manifesto.
Quietly, secretly, the internal flames die to embers, never to ignite again.
The next day, only a bit of warm stone and a a wreath of grey tells the tale of what once was.
faint ashen footprint, if trod upon at all, will tell a muted story to the enclosing dunes of alife lived and lost without notice.
Once there was one who is no more. if the story played out close to the shore, then one high tide
and the sign of it would be no more.
No matter how furious, brightly, and high the fire once burned, it would die. Slowly at first, then all of a sudden.
You just never know.
My grandfather passed away with 4 volumes of poetry- to be thrown out. But somehow I was able to grab them, and share as best I could.
I even put one in a book I published last year.
But- here I am wondering if that book will ever really catch on.
And my parents passed away never imagining that I would find reel to reel tapes of them- recorded playing the piano.
I went crazy- finally learned to master audio and make CDs of them and a Youtube channel to share them.
We might as well just shine while we can- for whatever comes of it.
:)
I couldn't help thinking of the finding of footsteps on the beach in the fossil record of the Americas about 40,000 years ago, much earlier than the 15 to 20,000 years ago that humans were supposedly migrating to the Americas from Asia. A conundrum that will be solved in time.
This was unexpectedly a darn good poem about the giving up of the fire of life. I say unexpectedly only because I have never read you before, at least I don't believe I have. Don't think you are alone in wondering how your poetry will be accepted, or how they will be rejected in the years to come. Just write, and cling to the good vibes you receive at places like this.
A poem that well-expressed your inner feelings which we all have at one time or another.
My objective now is that I write whenever I'm inspired and not having to worry about whether or not it is going to be read because I am happy whenever I write. Those who like my style would read my work and enjoy my work. You must write and write, and develop your own style! Then your footprints will show.
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My grandfather passed away with 4 volumes of poetry- to be thrown out. But somehow I was able to grab them, and share as best I could.
I even put one in a book I published last year.
But- here I am wondering if that book will ever really catch on.
And my parents passed away never imagining that I would find reel to reel tapes of them- recorded playing the piano.
I went crazy- finally learned to master audio and make CDs of them and a Youtube channel to share them.
We might as well just shine while we can- for whatever comes of it.
:)
John Bidwell
I couldn't help thinking of the finding of footsteps on the beach in the fossil record of the Americas about 40,000 years ago, much earlier than the 15 to 20,000 years ago that humans were supposedly migrating to the Americas from Asia. A conundrum that will be solved in time.
Ron
My objective now is that I write whenever I'm inspired and not having to worry about whether or not it is going to be read because I am happy whenever I write. Those who like my style would read my work and enjoy my work. You must write and write, and develop your own style! Then your footprints will show.
Sandie