Submitted by Jane Blanchard
Footprints are no longer allowed.
Each of us is supposed to come
and go without a remnant of
existence. Not to do so is
believed to be indulgent and
of such should be expunged so that
all else can last once we have passed.
Back on the beach again, I nod
at newcomers, speak or wave to
regulars. I wonder if I
am missed when elsewhere. Retracing
my own tracks, I write poetry,
then a brief obituary.
About the Poet
Jane Blanchard lives and writes in Georgia. Her poetry has been published around the world as well as posted online. She has two collections—the shorter Unloosed and the longer Tides & Currents—both with Kelsay Books.
Photo Credit: Gustav Courbet – The Beach at Trouville at Low Tide
Love this one. It speaks of the melancholy, that sadness deep seeded in our soul about our mortality.
Excellent piece on what we all go through.
A bleak future indeed…and a haunting poem.
Reblogged this on The Biblioanthropologist.