Intro
When you're young, it seems like you always need to look to the future. Choices are made for the future, and you are taught that the future holds your greatest dreams. The future is where everything must fit together, where every one of your questions is answered. But how far into the future should you look? This poem is a imagination of what will be left of me when I die, and who will be there to see it. So here goes...
Thank you friend, descendant or victim
For playing the fool you gain or bear
(You thought that I'd be done right there?)
The damp dregs of a life:
An exquisite novel never understood -
Its words too wide and grand and good
(as an endless saga should)
A fork rendered some futile force
For eating fine rice - a daily course
(which made things painstakingly worse)
These filling journals full of lies
But in my head I'm never be tried
(this lonely, pointless crime)
A paper star, sharp pins, rich mold
A prized share of pure fool's gold
Successor, do not do what I have told.
So Yeah...
I was planning this week to write a book review, but procrastination led to a lack of time, so here I am again. Oh well...
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