Some Things Never Die

Through these caverns

An echo mourns

The passing of a life

Wrought with hope

And the illusion

Of significance

A wordless meaning

Left hanging on

The final stroke

Of a pen

That still bleeds

Even without

The hand

To release

Its suffering

59 comments

  1. This has made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, River. Absolutely beautiful, and strangely comforting as I have just lost a friend. I can hear that echo now.

    Liked by 2 people

  2. I think what I most want out of my writing is to be remembered, even if only one person in a hundred years stumbles across something I’ve written and finds something meaningful in my words.
    Your words will live on, River.

    Liked by 4 people

  3. Reblogged this on http://www.fabricthatmademe.com and commented:
    I love this poem. Maybe it’s because I relate to the passing away part… maybe it’s because somethings I’ve chosen in my life I know will never die. Writing and leaving my mark on this world with my art will be here after I am gone. The joy, the pain, the memory and experience will be here even when I am not for the read to bear.

    Liked by 1 person

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