Remember the death poem I wrote from a writing prompt and shared in a previous post? Well, it gave birth to something new.
At Chrysalis Women Writers meeting this past Wednesday, someone mentioned Scheherazade and it stuck with me. I thought about how her stories were anticipated by the prince and that thought blended with the idea of my poetry and how I do have a hope that it will be like a legacy, a part of me to live on. I think all of us who write - be it poetry, novel, scifi, fantasy, fiction, memoirs, etc. - hope that it will be the one thing left behind to be a representation of us, a gift shared and appreciated for years beyond ours.I think the thought of dying is a bit unnerving. Will anyone remember us? Will we leave a heritage to immortalize us?
We authors write because we want to be heard, to share, and to be cherished. We want to leave something of significance. No writer really does it for themselves. Writing is a step into immortality. The idea of others enjoying what we create is euphoric. And if it stirs or inspires them, even better.
Sometimes I imagine that years after my death, a young girl will find my poems and be moved by one. Then she will share it with someone else who may feel an inspiration to write something. Then that person passes the poetry on, and the trend endures for years. A nice dream.
Anyway, here is my poem:
We authors desire
to witness our writing
arousing emotion within a heart,
embroidering imagination upon a mind,
influencing the attitude of a life.
Like Scheherazade's tales
we wish our words to become
everlasting and cherished, greeted
with anxious anticipation.
Therefore I compose,
my words dancing on the air,
flying free, eager
to jewel the lives of others.
I spread them like seeds,
sowing inspiration and passion.
Some may take root within the heart
of another, and live
long after I have been immersed
into earthly beauty.
Maybe my words will endure
through those they arouse and motivate,
and thus I will exist immortal.