Vernon Witmer | + Follow Poet |
Free verse | + Fav Poem | Comment | Email | Print |

Notes About The Poem

Obituary

I read the weeks obituaries closely
saw lines of passing on every page
I wondered who they were and
who were those they left behind.
The names meant nothing to me.
I did not know them.
What did it matter to me they liked golf,
had a love for woodcraft,  planted gardens?
What was the meaning of lists of those that passed?
I will never know them
or take the time to categorize 
those things they liked to do.
Dark mornings before the birds awaken
I rise like those from other graves 
and with the other ghosts stir alone 
within our movement 
toward the coffee and the light;
pen and pad held ready 
to meet the challenge of my words;
to play with fire and golden strands
of filaments of thought.
Today I’ll choose the right combination 
of characters in search of that single truth, 
lost forever inside a forest of final light
and one day for one moment
someone will cast a casual glance
my way and say, “what did it matter
that he liked poetry?”
I never knew him.

Please Login to post a comment