Why do I write you ask,
Why all the scribbling,
the notebooks, the wasted paper?
Well, after I settle into Time’s carriage
and let her drag me away,
there will be a pair of hands,
a pair of eyes, a pair of ears,
that will hear my voice
inscribed into the age-old parchment,
that will understand the whisper
of the stone-grey lips.
Or when I’m away,
far away from here,
when the memory starts to elude me,
into another world to seclude me,
the paper in my hand will carry the voice
of the once-upon-a-time me,
if I ever do forget,
I will make sure to remind me
of what had once been
the essence of being me.
© 2017 Erna G. – All Rights Reserved