Every morning I stare into his eyes
Eyes that have seen the dark universe yawning
And with the morbid chill of his penetrating glare
I shiver at how far his fancy flies
Who’s stories might one’s sanity impaire
I fall to shame at my own inadequacy
When in presence of masters of yore
Framed and throned upon my wall
For I myself am what I most abhor
As I realize I’ll never match his legend
To his immortality I am deeply in thrall
June 26th - 2023
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Author:
A.B. Jakobs (
Offline) - Published: June 25th, 2023 20:35
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 4
Offline)
Comments1
such a relatable topic
thanks for sharing, dear poet
(comparison's as our plague of existence
we strive to evolve, while anchored
to lore
crafted insurmountable by myth unfound
in that toil and woe of our everyday
realities
we Time-stamp our fate, as-if
we ever had a say, in what era
we would taste, life
and on, generations lamenting
heroes, heralded
by those cannon's of privileged
elitism
hoping, maybe we too
may be Time distilled
by posterity
as being mentioned, aside
those who helped us reach
our heights..)
Thank you dear Mek! I always appreciate your profound input and sincere engagement in my poems! Let's both strive for posterity and legacy through our artistic crafts.
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