The clay that burns the tribe of stone
The fire that eats only the hearth
The book of knowledge page unturned
The sentinel of windward ash
The whisper of forgotten dreams
The friend who sees your change as threat
The trap where all is as it seems
The long voyage not started yet
The echo none has stayed to hear
The swallow of a closed mouths yawn
The gentle solace borne from fear
The parallels not earthly drawn
The change your past friend saw as threat
The hollow where your head shall lie
The promised but unspoken yet
The stranger who will see you die
The college where your work once led
The things you cherished that expire
The undescribed because vague dread
The scab you cast and felt no more
The brass end of the corridor
The chest you wont now occupy
The land unthought you will explore
The stranger friend now at your side
This experimental piece was triggered by a friend’s photo.
(Thanks, Steph Mann!)
I wrote the first 4 lines as a comment on that photo.
A week or so later, revisiting, I wrote this poem.
The title W.I.P. (Work-In-Progress) is a play upon the often-seen epitaph, R.I.P. (Rest In Peace).