Pass It On

Even, perhaps long before my death
The ashes and bone fragments of my life
Were scattered across deserts, deep in seas
Defeated in the stakes of gravity.
My father solid, stubborn in one place
The bones of his stability at rest
In England's damp and cosy arms
‘Neath Lincoln green and local cherry tree
He knew, he used the maps of death and life
But I, with my credentials, published words
Swirled up into the never-ending sky
Descended to defeat and to defy
A follower or child to lay me down.
United still upon this lonely sphere
Helpless in the weight of our demise
Knowing we are living for a death
Or live a death already realized
We tell this to each other for a song
Father to son, we lightly pass it on.

poem by Frank Bana
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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