My Scroll

Began did I, writing my life

On seemingly endless scroll

Fine pen and parchment rife

‘Tween rollers made of gold

Stout the girth when I began

As scroll became unfurled

Scribbled on by a young man

No knowledge of the world

Great space given for employ

Of such adolescent words

Musings of a little boy

Obsessed with bees and birds

Steady life passes to the left

Memories now curled

Past a million words and yet

A mere peek into my world

Cruel death will come for me I’m sure

I struggle to bind scroll tight

I see my ebbing future

Thinly wrapped upon the right

Tiny words now all I write

I am running out of space

Having not had foresight

Of life’s persistent pace

No room left for opus or tome

Final pages turn through my hand

Will my scroll remain like stone

Or fleeting words upon the sand

Comments
7 Responses to “My Scroll”
  1. meenawalia says:

    Lovely…death is the harsh reality but how we chose to live before that makes all the difference..

  2. kenyacara says:

    Wow! Just wow! What a fantastic comparison.I love this poem so much

  3. YBP says:

    How profound ….. how true….. how reflective .,.. how empowering ….. yes I’m with you on that completely, Brad. WE ALWAYS HAVE A CHOICE! ❤️ And we choose LOVE! ❤️💚💛💙💜

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