My poem today is how I see my poetical works when I am past.
Volume-less
Hanging on to all that is.
Grasping at reality,
But by a thread.
Taking stock of nothing.
Volume-less!
No shadows to chase.
I cast non now.
Beyond where I stagnate.
No memory for me,
Fleeting nothings in time.
No ripples cast,
Motionless.
Generations from recognition.
Centuries of centuries...
My written word; defining me.
What I was?
Who I am?
The people's voice.
I am of the wind,
But a whisper now read.
My own memory.
By Helen Stallard
March 22, 2014
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