When you begin to understand
it all dissipates, becomes obscure,
forgotten, and lost to time,
you see the fragile futility of
Monuments fall into ivy covered ruin,
icons die ignominious deaths,
shelves get dusty,
and painting fades.
Dances fall out of fashing,
and the classic is
reimagined and reworked
until it’s redefined
to new and undeserving critics.
Your legacy work, of all you ever were,
will be interred or scattered.
The body of work decomposes,
a rotting testament
to the vagaries and auguries
Until one day…
Time passes, and seasons change.
I’ve walked this road with others who have
now departed, some not of their will, some not
of their power, but all the same,
It’ s lonelier now, yet no less lovely than
it’s always been.
It’s just that the silences grow deeper
toward the end.
Thoughts grow louder, and
small victories are
celebrated quietly in the heart
with whispered exclamations.
I feel gentle fingertips of a chilling herald wind
brush my cheek, and
smile at the inevitable winter.
And here in the cider- scented,
these vibrant colors
of my later years,
glorious before the blackened white
of my return home,
spring yet remains.