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Here

Submitted by Kelly Ann Wilson on Sat, 2023-12-23 01:33

Here
Written by Kelly Ann Wilson

There may not be a painting of me hung in a museum
Or a song that someone wrote about me on the radio.
It could be that no school is ever built in my name.
The story of my life may not play on the silver screen.

But fallen leaves were crushed beneath my feet.
My hands planted small seeds.
I skipped rocks that settled into riverbeds.
My initials were carved into birch bark.

I left a mark.
I was here.

Written November 11, 2023
© 2023 Kelly Ann Wilson

Style / type: 
Free verse
Review Request (Intensity): 
Please use care (this is a sensitive subject for me, do not critique harshly)
Last few words: 
Read my writer’s blog at https://kwilsonarts.wordpress.com
Editing stage: 
Editing - polished draft
Content level: 
Not Explicit Content

Comments

Triskelion

Sat, 2023-12-23 09:47

Triskelion's picture
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...wrote a short poem that impressed at least one other person. Nicely written, Kelly Ann Wilson.

Thomas

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...so like my lost dreams...the flood

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