14 Mar

They are born near page one;

quickly collect the bits of providence

that shape and carve from clay; men.


I hold their lives in my hands,

turn over the moments that made them,

wishing for myself, so much more

to be like these lives.


Read truth, warts and all,

see the secret thoughts of men long dead

I speculate on how and why;

see them in the deep valley of the soul,

then assail the peaks of conquest.


I love to sit comfortably in my armchair

and judge

and live, vicariously.


But above all,

after the jaunt through history,

I love to sit at the deathbed

of men long asleep in Abraham’s breast

and listen to their last words.


And ponder.

And number my days.

1 Comment

Posted by on March 14, 2011 in poetry


One response to “Biographies

  1. Shirley A Heward

    April 15, 2011 at 10:13 am

    Great poem!


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