It was my birthday this week (🥳), which always kindles a crackling melancholy in my soul. (Don’t worry, we poets love a bracing melancholy.) So I’ve been thinking about the passage of time, and the kind of life I want to live. About the things I would like to leave along the edges of whatever path I take, for any other travelers who happen to come along after me.
It’s reminded me of a poem I wrote during the most recent February Poetry Adventure:
Ghost Stories
In the end, if things go well, we’ll just be stories others love to tell.
(I did mention the bracing melancholy, yes?)
To give credit where it might be due, it’s possible this poem was subconsciously inspired by Margaret Atwood or Dr. Who, both of whom I admire as poets and fellow travelers in time, though I have no direct memory of encountering their quotes before writing these lines and then Googling to see if I’d heard them somewhere before. So, this poem is either an homage, or I get to boldly claim that I share a common muse with Margaret Atwood and Dr. Who. Either way, time for a little more ice cream. (🥳)
I hope this poem finds you living a life filled with stories,
~ A
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I love this poem!
Gotta love a bracing melancholy - it's character building!