It was only a couple weeks ago that I posted a poem while claiming that I don’t write much poetry. And it’s true, honest! But it just so happens that I’ve written another one.
I recently went on vacation with my family to a national park. I really shouldn’t be, but I find myself perpetually shocked by the human propensity to deface the most beautiful places with little bits of graffiti. So here’s a poem about that.
Etchings on a Boulder
We cannot count ourselves enlightened
Until we outgrow this need
To carve our names
In every nook and cranny
Of beautiful wilderness
What vain hope
That initials in the rock
Will obtain immortality
Our frail bodies cannot
Petty little scratches
May outlive us
But they will fade
Wind and rain painting
A clean canvas
What meaning will those letters have?
Only this:
We were so afraid
Of being forgotten
Words Deferred 