What We Leave Behind

A Poem

Hurry, mortals, we are all too soon

into the becoming void

From where we have so little time ago

emerged;

Back, it seems, to what we never were,

to be the nothing we are bound to be.

And we must always hurry

carrying with us such little dreams:

All those things that life-talk tells us of

and to do:

To live toward immortality

through procreation…

Not for us/our consciousness,

but for life—

Whatever life turns out to be

to test eternity

Against our imaginations…

or, perhaps, against our fantasies….

We are because of life:

We accompany life on its journey,

Our being is totally dependent upon it…

but we are not it!

Consciousness cannot be, cannot exist,

cannot question, die or bequeath

Without there having been life,

Yet we are not, never were

And will never be life!

What we are is nothing…

Nothing…except, perhaps,

what was left to us,

By forbears who were us,

who are us….

We are what was left behind—

what we leave behind….

A Hill resident, the author believes that the appreciation of art should not be influenced by the vagaries or prejudices of biography.