Monuments
While visiting the grave of a friend I lost to God,
I found there one marked only by a tag.
Set in the sand on a thin steel rod,
With all the posture of a paper bag.
I paused, but soon after, passed this pathetic sight,
My thoughts on my own death to be,
And hoped deep within, when I’d lose my light,
That there would be a monument of me.
I came upon a statue, higher than myself,
Weighing at the base at least a ton.
I knew, very well, that my collected wealth,
Could make a bigger and a better one.
But soon I saw a woman crying,
A red rose in her hand
She fell as if her soul was dying,
Then calmly kissed the sand.
I noticed she was lying at the grave, I saw before.
The one with just a label there to show.
The one that by my pride, so quick I would ignore,
But then I greater wisdom I would know.
The greatest structure for a man, isn’t made of stone,
Erosion will alleviate its goal.
The thing that will survive is the love that he has shown.
-The true composition of the soul.
Copyright © Timothy Yeager | Year Posted 2010
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