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
Lovely…death is the harsh reality but how we chose to live before that makes all the difference..
I agree Meena. It is all about what we write in our scrolls! Thank you for your continued readership. You are the best!
Wow! Just wow! What a fantastic comparison.I love this poem so much
Thank you kindly Kenya!
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! ❤️💚💛💙💜
Thank you loving Yeka!
Thanks so much Brad! Keep inspiring!!! ☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️