Comes to be that I am dead Spread my ashes on the river That I might be trapped in the stones Lining edges and bottom And drown forever in the words They spoke to me When ears were not enough To hear all that was said.
Then come Spring And she is pregnant with flood Let me be covered in silt Carried from hills that Were my playground Of learning to see beauty And that all things End
Someday when all the ages Have rolled past any who would care Or know Iíll be stone To be skipped along The rippled waves From some childís hand
Maybe then Iíll understandÖ
and all the words and all the space between will come clear and I can begin to truly live again
LONG time -- no read, my friend... It's so refreshing to read one of yours after all this time. This one, in its own way, made me picture the novel "A Separate Peace" for some reason -- the tone and mood, I suppose. You always have a way of flowing with your words -- much like the river described. Solid expression.
You CAN make a difference: http://educate-yourself.org/
Somewhere in time~
After reading a poem of yours where you said you were writing a series, I decided to try to find where the series began. I haven't yet, but this title captured my eye, and am glad it. Liked your analogies! Very cleverly written.