Words Shun Death

Life’s written residue,
categorized,
filed,
eventually archived.

From
worn paths seen through heavy mist,
where rubber balls once bounced,
bicycle tires rolled,
sneakers kicked rocks,
Vibram soles trekked up mountains.

To
transient echoes heard distant,
where taxi horns blow,
subway rails labor loud,
pigeons coo serenely,
remote controlled sail boats
dot Central Park’s lake.

Remembering
where gentle touches
made rewarding a mother’s love,
a child’s security,
a father’s confidence,
grandfather’s trust,
grandmother’s faith.

Such
is Life’s driftwood,
destined to be aged by experience,
honored,
collected,
used,
recycled.

The written word knows not death.