Of Ashes…
In such a small unearthly urn Where father’s ashes lay, Can it be that all he learned Will be interred today? Can everything that he discerned Be fitted well within This modest, gilded funeral urn Inscribed with seraphim? An urn so small, so light in weight, How can it hold a man Whose late accomplishments were great, Who lived a mortal’s span? A billion words, ideas and thoughts In such a little urn; A million dos and don’ts and oughts Exhausted in the after burn? These insubstantial ashes hide The substance of our dad, With all his faults and all his pride And all that drove us mad. Substance is the paradox These ashes symbolize; Something that the orthodox Believers eulogize. More certain was his comedy And phosphorescent wit, Always at the ready, dear, To skewer a pompous twit. Where be your mocking anecdotes? Where now your jesting gibes? All ashes, dust and motley motes To rest in lands of native tribes. Mark Sconce |
- September 2023 – Issue - August 31, 2023
- September 2023 – Articles - August 31, 2023
- September 2023 - August 31, 2023