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A noble act it seemed,
But time wore it out.
The bony frame now remains,
Picked clean of flesh by crow.
This sacrifice for siblings,
This obedience to tradition,
This obedience to parents,
This underselling of self,
Family is everything we agree,
But life is it and more,
A matrimony for money,
Is nothing but what it is.
The route to the heavens abound,
Perhaps a farther look is it,
Making the most of our mind,
To get the most of life.
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Writer Profile
Reality
I come alive when I write and the feeling that those few lines may impact positively on a soul unknown to me or even elicit a smile makes it a worthwhile endeavour.
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Comments
Dmitriy Kokarev | Mar 31st, 2005
very wel writte
very personal
very touching
Julie Renee Willis | Apr 9th, 2005
some creators believe that the work of art should be received exactly as it was intended. others, however, trust the transformation that the created entity takes as it travels from heart to eye, soul to soul. I feel and appreciate the tension in this poem, this cry.
litrary Odimegwu Onwumere | Apr 16th, 2005
you have an i dea, but make it more mien
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