A pocket full of mumbles—
Simon and Garfunkel, The Boxer.
Is that all I am, my epitaph?
A pocket full of
Mumbled words plucked from where?
Cut into stone, to mark—
Till the space is used again—
My mouldering time.
And when my legacies join me
Who then will walk to my grave
To talk of my ambition fulfilled
Of my losses, my gains.
Now we sit at the nub
Of why we want a family line—
The fear of the end
Of what we lived and strived for
Consigned to whom?
But they have their own life!
Why would they live in mine?
Let them find their own way
And then,
Maybe they will come again
To my grave, to bow their heads
In momentary thought,
As they live their own
Life full of mumbled words.
About the author:
John writes poetry daily and has published works on Eunoia Review, Spillwords and the Edgeofhumanity.
Blog: https://underlined6.wordpress.com/
If you would like to have your work published in The Poetry Bar send your poem, a few words about yourself and the link to your blog and Instagram account to the e-mail poetrybar1@gmail.com