Topic: Verse
First, the blank page is a reproach to me.
Second, I’ll not suffer to be silenced.
Third, composition is my only voice—
Small voice, halting, and smothered soon enough,
I know, not long remembered, for we go,
Every one, down into the dark. Yet still,
Why not give voice? Why not set down the words,
Trusting that my daughters and their children
Will in those words set down remember me?
So that some echo of my soul shall sound I write,
Setting my face against the fall of night.
Posted by tmg110
at 12:00 AM EST
Updated: Saturday, 29 November 2014 12:01 AM EST
