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By coujeaux Date: 2004 Oct 20 Comment on this Work [[2004.10.20.11.49.6633]] |
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Corridors, they populate the aging gaze; stillframe longings reverberating our yore now and then, And soundtrack of steadystep respiration and secondhand heartrhythms punctuate their chagrin. The storytellers I revere seem no more, speaking of handshake certainties and neverending will, As I brush away the accumulations of dust upon the landscape of their legacies grown thinner still. Voices in whispertones, touches of conscience or wry insights, even a little wink at youthful pride, Gracious enough to give us life or greater opportunities through wisdoms earned in fearless stride. In now-faded imagery, the clock turned 'round, take a step back through time, see yourself within, Let updated contrast of your hopes and struggles stand with reassuring arm upon your next of kin. Oral tradition, written missives, anecdotal evidence of things they learned in times harder than now, Two or three generations down your line perhaps this lifetime becomes newer textbook on the how. Lend an ear, it keeps them here; memories never fail and their tales continue onward, gifts to give, And never having met one so dear their presence remains near to enrich countless spirits yet to live. Snapshots of my forebears, tell me the story of myself, how I came to be or what I'm due to know, For you've walked these passageways in hours I cannot imagine save for stories of not so long ago. Embracing my mother as she did her own, I recount the inculcations so sublime that passed me by, Tracing the 1937 photograph of both women young enough so nostalgia had moistened neither eye. Pass it on and carry it through, the responsibility falls to you, weight of your little world 'pon a mind, Just over the horizon lies answers for which perhaps we're as unprepared as any we'll leave behind. 08/12/2004 |