On Measuring a Man
By what do you measure a man?
By the length of his height?
By the strength of his hand?
Men aren’t made equal, tis true
as the eagle has its wings,
the dog has legs in lieu
The strength of a man’s back changes
from young to strong to old
as his corporeal body ages.
and what of his mind?
Ah, yet again, times changes
and in dusk, is his decline.
What of wit? likewise
and of passion? that too flies
at least, his entirety? alas, his all dies
This is naught but sorrow!
Is there nothing a man can do,
but enjoy his instant before his burrow??
Worry not, I say, all’s not lost,
for in a short span of time,
man has will, from birth to last
We are not known by the gifts we get,
we are known by what we act,
our tears and joy, our blood and sweat.
Each woman or man, like grains of sand,
flutter in the solar wind,
eroding a mark on this land,
so be at peace, my friend,
to plumb a mortal man,
is but to behold his end,
for as years grow long,
when his bones are bleached,
his spirit is honoured in song,
and so across the lands
in taverns, of mortals they sing,
generations defined, sedimentary bands,
as age after age the years bring,
the trials our names must withstand,
till new tales take wing,
and ours return to land.
Apologies for the radio silence, and to make up for it, here’s a treat, one of my better poems! The format is rather unlike most of my work, using a 3-line ABA rhyming scheme. It follows the conversation of two friends, philosophizing about how you could measure a man.
Thank you, Come again.