Kingsbrae 17.2
17 June 2017
Writer
Writer, write not your words in the sand.
The seas are rising on an incoming tide.
Strong winds push waves towards the shore
and night descends.
Your words are shadows written on sand.
Like footsteps they will wash away and soon
you, your words, your footprints,
will exist no more.
Writer, cast your words in stone.
Stamp them into monuments.
Sculpt earth’s bones into words
and let them take form.
Climb high into the hills. Heaven will bring
words on the white wings of gulls.
Carve them slowly on stone tablets.
Bring them home from the hills.
The world will rejoice in the magic of your words.
rogermoorepoet 
Those words are a legacy for those of us who will leave nothing else of ourselves behind. Love this one, Roger!
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So little remains … I think of my parents … my grandparents … so little left … my brothers … even less …
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I’m the last on my branch of the tree. I have “George Bailey” moments once in a while. Who’s going to notice when I’m gone? But you can’t dwell on that kind of thing – it’s a black hole.
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I know the feeling. Your books are your footprints … write them well and leave them behind you. In addition, your family dna is spread wider than you think … mine is with cousins in Australia, New Zealand, Canada, the UK, it will always continue, even if we don’t. “Though lovers be lost, love shall not, and death shall have no dominion.”
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That is true… but mine is very far removed. My closest relatives are second cousins!
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The DNA is still there and always will be. And you are still leaving footprints … never fear …
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Thank you, Roger!
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‘My name is Ozymandias….’
Time erases all things.
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“Look on my works, ye mighty, and beware …” and with a flick of a switch, we have lost all our files and our work is gone! “Barren and bare, the lone and level sands stretch far away”
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Good one, Roger. As one who occasionally writes words on stone, may I share that those words are also erased by the soft erasers of time, water and wind – or by the frustrated engraver herself. Even those dubious words engraved on that fabled mountain-top are lost to our view, and therefore disobeyed, or obeyed as they suit us. Better, maybe, to trace our words in the air with our finger? Carry on! -j
Sent from Mail for Windows 10
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I love your attitude and outlook, Jan. You are one of a kind. They ‘broke the mold of solid gold’ when they made you. You have got me laughing on a misty-tisty morning. Thank you!!!
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