If we are here so short a time,
one day we'll find our figures thin,
and of the life we gave to grind,
a decade spent and soaked in gin.
We'll recount tales of peace and war,
all our failures and our success.
And when we see the crowd get bored,
sing of love, til the band resets.
Can mortals mean so many things,
not flags, nations, ethnicities?
There's no language when we sing, the
universal conspiracy.
If we are here so long a time,
one day we'll find our figures slack,
and of the love we took in stride,
our hearts thrown back in white and black.
Ignore the now for yesterday,
for all the treasured memories.
But here and now is here to stay,
and yesterday's an elegy.
Can mortals mean so many words,
both said and unsaid, loud, burned?
I see the shepherd and the herds,
they're giving sermons each in turn.
But as for me, I walk away,
forsaking all that I have seen.
I'm still ignoble, but okay,
and maybe that's what mortal means.
All photos in all my poetry are original and taken by me and processed via app, except for one. Find the only poem where I don't use original imagery and win 5SBD (still unclaimed)! Just a fun way I can keep giving back to those who read and engage ;) put it in the comments! Remember: sharing is caring, and sharing this poetic post is the best way to show support.
Thank you for spending time here.
Other works:
One
The Cost is to be
Thinking Man's Prison
I, witness
Starchild
Melt