The Last Verse

mikeschultz Sun Feb 10 2013, 15:34

Which verse was first scribed in the sand?
None of us may say for certain,
Though few may deny that verses,
First told and then copied, number
Too many to know, remember,
Or recall, as one rehearses
To play just inside the curtain,
Away from those who understand:

Which tablet cannot be broken?
What paper will not dry and burn?
What thoughts might we save and pass down,
To edify and share a wealth
Of knowing? With vigor and health
Invested, learning to expound
Upon which merits hearts may yearn
And not leave their words unspoken,

Poets, young, old, and older still,
Alive or dead, published or not,
Seek to write out the voice they hear,
For when the Muse comes whispering,
The words, rushing or scampering,
Resonate echoes in each ear,
To see some past or future plot,
And write as best we might or will.

Then, when the last verse is written,
Who then stands to read or recite
When no one sits to listen, as
There’s no one left alive who cares?
The books of words, of our hopes and fears,
Promise we might learn from our past,
Our peace, and the wars we ignite…
None may hear the last verse written.

Michael Schultz © February 10, 2013 (1359)