Background: I’ve been working on saving my uncle’s original poetry and essays for the last few days. While he told me that I didn’t have to read any of them, I couldn’t resist myself. As the benefactor of his literature, I’m obligated to find out what I received. (No, he’s not deceased – yet – but he’s suddenly became concerned about the welfare of his literature.) After reading several pieces of poetry, I began to think about my own works that I’ve written throughout the years.
As a child, I once believed that
I would request my poetry and literary arts
Be burned in cremation with my body.
‘Twas a poet’s death and funeral I longed for.
Yet, I was but a child and knew no better.
It was my initial plan of bronze.
As a blooming teen, full of hopeless sonnets
And self-loathing gloom, I thought to write
My poetry and proceed to burning the sheets
Once the words were writ on paper.
‘Twas a demand of a selfish teen who knew little.
It was my secondary plan of silver.
As a young adult, I now see the incredulous plans
Of my youth. I now wish to publish and share what
Little creativity I have with one who may
See their mirrored self in my letters and words on paper,
And when my time is done in this mortal world,
Perhaps I shall burn my words.
This is – for now – my golden plan.
© Elle Short Stack Story Time 2015