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Verona Campbell Poem
A boy walks a half mile down a trail
He stops
Walks towards a large tree
Pulls a pocket knife from his jacket
His father gave him this knife
Having received it from his father
And his father before him
A boy carves into the bark of the tree
His name
I WAS HERE
A boy becomes a man
And a man walks down many trails
Many trails and many trees
I WAS HERE, I WAS HERE, I WAS HERE
A man crosses a bridge
Upon it he carves his name
I WAS HERE
He slips
Drops the knife into the water
It is lost forever
A knife falls into a river
And a man grows old
No wife, no children, no grandchildren
He is alone
A knife is swept into an ocean
And an old man dies, as old men do
Tell me,
What is the value of an object,
If it holds significance to only one man?
What is the value of a man,
If he is significant to no one?
If a tree falls when no one is around,
Does it make a sound?
(I WAS HERE)
A tree falls in a forest
A tree with a name carved into it
A name carved by a boy who became a man who is now dead
I WAS HERE
A tree is turned into paper
And the paper becomes pages
And the pages hold two stories
One in ink, one invisible
I WAS HERE
Tell me,
What is the value of a story that no one reads?
Does a story exist if it cannot be read?
If a man dies when no one is in the room,
Is he really dead?
Many years have passed
A girl stands a half mile down a trail
Marker in her hand
I WAS HERE.
Copyright © Verona Campbell | Year Posted 2021
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Details |
Verona Campbell Poem
No amount of skinny
will starve you back to me
I’m hungry for your love
you’ve lost your appetite for me
I must cleanse my palate
learn to refine my taste
You took the love I fed you
And threw it in my face
She might be more beautiful
and fit in extra-small Tees
But she is something (which I am not)
and that’s empty calories
Copyright © Verona Campbell | Year Posted 2021
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