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In An Hundred Years

In an hundred years... Everything around us will be changed, And everybody will be dead, Yet, something will continue... Will it be, as my radical leftist brother predicts, The final takedown of Western Civilization? Will we all rise to pray and face east? Will we all rise and face nothing but a cup of sustainably-grown coffee? Will the common people be able to afford coffee? What will have become of our words, penned sometimes in ink, sometimes in blood? Who will still read us? Will our great-grandchildren show old, unrotatable, digital photos? What of those of us who have no children? Will our words survive, even a generation? Will our poetry be sold, half-price, or clearance? What footprints will we have left, who built no buildings, saved no lives, ended no tyranny? Yet, I think we will survive for a generation or two, For there are always a few who hope to feel something, To know the grounding reality of shared human experience. I do not pretend, they will be reading ME, But, perhaps, They will be reading US... That shrinking crowd that comprises the body of Our words made corporeal, And one or two of us, they will remember... I hope for nothing better than a sea, And quiet waves that bear away once-me...

Copyright © | Year Posted 2019




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Date: 1/24/2019 3:32:00 PM
Andrew, great poem, I try not to look into the future as the present is hard enough ~
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Andrew Fairchild
Date: 1/24/2019 5:02:00 PM
Thank You! The Present IS hard enough, I agree.
Date: 1/23/2019 8:26:00 AM
WoW! Andrew, This is such a deep and thought provoking write. I would like to think that our children, grandchildren and so on, will keep the memory of "us" alive. Excellent job. Thanks for stopping by my page today:-) Alexis
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Date: 1/21/2019 5:06:00 PM
DEEP and sad but beautiful. I wrote of this too one time. But now I forgot the title I gave it! This is very similar to my own thoughts. FAVE
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Andrew Fairchild
Date: 1/21/2019 9:05:00 PM
Thank You so much! I am so glad you liked it! You know, Tibetan Buddhist monks sometimes create beautiful designs in colored sand, very intricate! These 'mandalas' contain pictures of the Buddhas, devas, demons, and holy symbols. They take days or weeks to create. Then, once the design is completed, a monk will destroy it by sweeping away the sand in a single gesture. THIS, they do, to remind themselves of the Impermanence of things. Only by understanding Impermanence, can we separate ourselves from Attachment, and begin to be free to pursue Enlightenment. If you think of the title of that poem, let me know -- I'd love to read it!