“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Sunday, April 22, 2018
Surname
Five-hundred generations since writing
and gathering, hunting and making
Families have failed
to evolve
at a decent pace.
My own stagnant genetic make-up,
imagination and desire
to do, to be, to come, to rise
higher
hovers-
inert for three generations.
An only child understood odds
and ends,
I had two children,
one son, one daughter,
two opportunities
to raise human beings
the right way.
I have left
all extended family
I have left a legacy
of language,
I have stoked creative fires,
I have drained all the juice,
I have praised
living self-lessly.
I have risen².
Painting by Paul Peel [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
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