Mike

Tales

Tales

 

If I were handed ‘the’ book

Inscribed with the letters of my name

It would be a raggedy thing

With torn and missing pages

In parts, a mystery to me

More lament than history

Where glowing deeds are reduced

To blown ashes and curled corners

Of half remembered things

But I am learning

To fear not, or if, not, less

Because the actual day I inhabit

Contains the truth

So I make history stall

In order to build

Day by day

A fitting legacy

That even I would recognize

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