My life is designed by me...
deeds chronicled,
have I made a difference?
Records of the past,
rememberences of jewels
passing through,
some permanent,
others absent, with grief.
Memorandums of understandings,
confusions, miracles...
Dairies of emotion,
days of passion, poignancy, fear.
Notes of disquiet
scribbled in anger.
Inventories of the mind,
registering past and present.
Journals of daily events,
driving the dream
to fulfillment.
Catalogue of memories,
measured in
moments of contentment,
inscribed on hearts tablet
of fragility.
Is my scroll cemented
with meaningful purpose,
or wasted in pages of decay?
I am the scribe
deliverer of my destiny,
immortalized in death.
What will be life's conclusion?
A contest entry
- The Scribe - One Day Contest by CarolDesjarlais.
525 points, ended April 18, 2007, 10 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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As all of us, have we penned our passions for naught? I can not but believe we have not...


