until my fountain pen runs dry.
It becomes a mantra.
Record her stories.
Record her praises.
I will sit at my computer,
slam my hands, my fingers against that keyboard
because there has to be a record.
I’ll share stories.
I’ll write volumes.
Book after book
with traces of her
will infiltrate libraries
and online book stores.
I’ll stand at every mountain peak,
sing her praises,
I’ll give people copies of these words
because as I said,
there has to be a record.
And when the pens are gone,
I’ll prick my skin,
spill my blood
into words onto pages —
that is what these words mean.
When my computer is obsolete,
when the Internet is dead,
I’ll ram mallet to stone
to chisel these words,
create monuments to you.
You wanna see a record?
Just know
that civilizations aeons from now
will see these testaments
from salvaged libraries
and carved from stone,
and live for these words.
Trust me.
###
We live in a world
where everything speeds by
in six second increments.
The world says
our youth has
Attention Deficit Disorder
because we cram
a billion things
down their throats
instantaneously
with every groundbreaking gadget
to get all that info
that much faster.
...So wait a minute,
why worry so much about the word
when sometimes the message
brings the meaning?
Then fine, time to get
high tech.
Let’s start with a haiku,
and make it
a six second vine.
there has to be a record. her existence makes
trees take root, flowers bloom, so
nature’s beautiful.