Short

By A Poem Guy

Coming up short

To a contest of giants,

Names engraved in statues,

To last themselves an eon.

I write a letter on the wind of change,

Blown away till the sun consumes it.

I write a word in the sands of time,

The water reaches out and drowns it.

They build temples to their greatness,

To live in stone immortal.

I may age,

And wither,

Collapse under my own weight,

And die.

I may weaken,

And buckle,

My hands may give out,

On the stone I etch.

And I may never live immortal.

I will come up short,

But I will die confident in my difference.

The wind will carry my letter,

And someone may hear it,

Adding letter by letter.

The water will fill in my words,

Drown out their meaning,

But give way for someone else to write on top.

My statue will be wood,

So that others may write their legacy into me,

Until the wood withers away,

And a new tree grows in its place.