poetry critical

online poetry workshop

Memento Mori

We, a race of stone,
from mud and bone descended
hardened in the baking sun
in life suspended,
upright like the poplar trees
shaped by joy and miseries
set to leave a trace
before our time has ended;
here we stand, alone, until
some thoughtless hand deletes us
and we're gone.

13 Mar 09

Rated 10 (10) by 2 users.
Active (2):
Inactive (0): 10, 10

(define the words in this poem)

(1 user considers this poem a favorite)

Add A Comment:
Enter the following text to post as unknown: captcha


from mud and bone descended, in life suspended, shaped by joy and miseries, before our time has ended; some thoughtless hand deletes us and were gone.
thank you for this piece...j.g.smiles
 — goeszon

you're welcome :)
 — unknown

 — unknown

we're often myopic about memento-mori, the end of our story, that last-gasp of surrendering, diving infinitely-in, an unending-ending bending toward a limitless sky --

yet, we see the poet-tree gnarled and askew reaching with its bony-finger to that cloudy-whirl, white on blue, all the while curling-roots around the stones of earth, the muddy star-dust of its birth, sipping nameless elements of course ... yes, it lurches in the wind making leaf-song whimper for the climb, the whine of being locked in Sun drenched dirt, the blood of longing serpents-up its trunk, yes, from deeper turnings where these roots have sunk
 — AlchemiA

two poems with the same title?
 — mandolyn

you painted a great picture for me
 — psychofemale