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immortality, a study of.
by Jared Fladelandmemorable words are written
in purely improvised manners.
This is a lie.
Great speeches have lived for years
while men die young and old alike.
I've seen Roosevelt in a moment of hesitation,
just before he utters:
something about fear and the like.
his twisted hand of liverspots and artheritis
speaks volumes. he could not
be great without a face to back his claim.
lincoln's expressive, gentle face
whispered lullabies as he forced a war.
a civil.
war.
he ached at the death of boys two-thirds his age or less,
but older than his poor youthful sons who
seemed to perish like ice cream cones in the sun.
Except one.
Who was seldom heard from again.
It seems dying is the only way to gain recognition.
And I don't plan on exiting the opera house anytime within this millenium.
Or this billenium.
or trillenium.
you understand the point.
I am going to stand for the ages,
like God, only without
a Holy ghost to do my bidding.
My son's going to be the next great one,
not the one seldom heard.
07/03/2006 Posted on 07/03/2006
Copyright © 2024 Jared Fladeland
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Sandy M. Humphrey on 07/03/06 at 08:37 PM I have a son I consider the great one, and he is the best thing that i have ever done so i get this standing for the ages, i raised him to be analytical, open minded, inquistive,tolerant and outspoken and i trust he will do the same and the legacy will pass on. Your poem reminded me of that. It takes more than great speaches to inspire generations it takes honest passion. Good read, thank you. smh |
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