The Way I Was Here
One day, I'll be forgotten
By all who knew my name;
I'll fade, as all things evanesce -
But certain things remain.
Like the enduring indent
Upon a well-worn chair;
The desire paths I've made,
The vestige I was there.
Like unmarked keys with no known lock,
The way I wield a pen;
Words I've left in minds and margins
Echoing again.
Like stubborn seeds I sowed in spring
That bloom when I am gone;
A quiet phrase I used to speak,
Perhaps a favorite song.
For time may steal the face and form,
And fragments fall away;
But piece by piece, the world retains
The soul that chose to stay.
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The Way I Was Here
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