A Shallow Grave at That

I travel lighter now, my friend. In fact,
I carry almost nothing with me as I
Seek the grave. I carry what I care
About, and I no longer care. I've left
A trail of weighty things, the ones
To which you, in your youth, ascribe
That useless word, profound. Go back
To look, if you would like, and gather up
And take those that you want: Truth,
Perhaps, or Beauty, maybe Justice, or
Democracy. Such heavy, empty shells
They are, and, when they're filled,
You'll find they can't be moved. You'll
Find you have to fend off others who
Will say you've filled them incorrectly,
And, as you are fighting, you will see
That, though, they are not right, they
Are not wrong. You may leave those
Vessels to them, turn, and travel
Lightly, as I do. You'll be a shell
Yourself who can no longer care.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 20 times
Written on 2011-05-07 at 13:46

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