No plaques shall bear the memory of our days,
Nor bronzen monikers proud sheen portrayal,
Nor stone hewn etching's fading trace retain,
the lost enthrallment of forgotten tales.
No cited starts and precious ends embossed,
These dates shall never be recounted hence,
No quotes intoned, their present poignance lost,
As hours decompose past reverence.
Parades of ghosts pass in memoriam,
But neither march nor stand attent in place,
All fanfare ballads airless, songs unsung,
Dumb trumpet, sepulchered within it's case.
Yet, we shall be remembered just the same,
For as we leave, our story follows us,
And these indifferent walls cannot contain,
A spirit sown, now grown to sacred trust.
No plaques shall bear the memory of our days,
And yet forever they shall be enshrined,
By those who carry them. They shall remain,
Within the spaces twixt a poet's lines,
Wherein the meaning of our words was made,
And cherished, loathed, or lost, shall never die.
Nor bronzen monikers proud sheen portrayal,
Nor stone hewn etching's fading trace retain,
the lost enthrallment of forgotten tales.
No cited starts and precious ends embossed,
These dates shall never be recounted hence,
No quotes intoned, their present poignance lost,
As hours decompose past reverence.
Parades of ghosts pass in memoriam,
But neither march nor stand attent in place,
All fanfare ballads airless, songs unsung,
Dumb trumpet, sepulchered within it's case.
Yet, we shall be remembered just the same,
For as we leave, our story follows us,
And these indifferent walls cannot contain,
A spirit sown, now grown to sacred trust.
No plaques shall bear the memory of our days,
And yet forever they shall be enshrined,
By those who carry them. They shall remain,
Within the spaces twixt a poet's lines,
Wherein the meaning of our words was made,
And cherished, loathed, or lost, shall never die.
