A Memory, a Word
A memory is transitory
coming, disappearing, and morphing
fickle as a woodland nymph,
and like a moth in the summer
it soon dies.
Humanity’s great citadel was not built
on a bog of quicksand.
A word is a stone
durable and unchangeable
permanent, immortal, and remembered
like a marble bust or a mountain range.
A writer lives forever
his words echo evermore
back and forth across eternity
mingling in a mélange
inside that most magnificent of all
concert halls, the mind.
So change memory to word,
silhouette to sunrise
speak forever
never die.
Copyright © Jesse Jones | Year Posted 2007
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