Please understand what I have to say,
for I would give all to be as Homer;
my writing become part of a great over-lay
for some Peisistratus to later recover.
Yes, in those imagined, far-future ages,
my name would have long-since been lost;
but, to think, my words amongst those pages;
my perceptions would have escaped Fate's cost!
My God, my observations being templated
amongst the gathered truths of our time,
even after my ashes have deteriorated,
they'll continue as part of an eternal rhyme.
I'm now willing to give it up and embrace it,
since my life's spent chasing my own doom,
I accept that, like no one, meager candle lit
can forever light the fullness of, even, one room;
no one, single poet's work can hope to truly
enlighten the beauty of any entire era.
I yearn my gift be set in the stars, a wedding tiara;
no longer desiring the twin role of mother and father
to my own impossibly virtuous daughter;
I'm made to think of Keats, and I remember,
his final wish was his name be writ in water.