Final Thoughts |
Issue 14
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I feel a permeating sadness like the corona of a moon,
Or a sun fading into another medium. As grandchildren, tied to parents play Run about and ride energetic waves, and spring hovers, They pass me as if I were invisible, While I am bursting into sharing things They may remember when I’m gone, Unlike grandma who seems More likely to beget a memory, not a tenuous relic. The tides of my life are blessed. Spared from a tortuous heritage which survivors often choose to obscure. Challenged by naysayers. Determined to arise from every fall. Self-made. Transformative. Crossing bridges and barriers. Not too stocky to run marathons twice, A tribute to my brother, a tribute to my wife. Giving shrewd advice, inspiring completion, deferring credit to colleagues. Shunning regret, I resolve unashamedly To be guided by instinct. Nearby extended family members make use of my presence. |
Mel Einhorn is an octogenarian poet previously self-published two un-marketed unheralded poetry books. He won the American Academy of Poets Prize in college. He creates slice of life still life lyric poignant portrayals reflective of the beat era.
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