Journal of Life,” Andrew Dudewicz

Journal of Life

Atop a mighty desk, I sit, Pages filled to the brim with Wit; What is inside you cannot touch, For I am above all nonesuch.

People, Ideas—I see them, As it is through them I become Alive, but that is not quite true; I have a Soul, but not like you.

Tis true I refuse to perish, Yet there are those that I cherish; I clasp Covered arms around us, To shelter from Ozymandias.

To forget, or be forgotten, Which is worse, life misbegotten, I staunch the bleeding in your mind, Of Memories, else lost to time.

When your pencil tip pirouettes, Across my pale pages, a Duet, Yet I am overcome by grief, Ephemeral thoughts like gay thieves.

After you, there’ll be another, And though you were like my brother, Slip past the surly bonds of Earth, I will treasure your golden words.

War, Revolution, Repression, I have laid bare all transgression, In all of human history, Yet not one man has outlived me.

Death lurks, stalks before it enshrouds, Yet to Death I say, be not proud! For I’m the bulwark to your Reign Of Terror. I am King of Kings!

Oh, Humanity!—I do plead, Like lofty Lady Liberty,

Give me your tired, your blessed poor; I’m Eternity, your Savior.

If you share your secrets, Death Dies, Far below Earth’s heavenly skies. To believe life ever after, Don’t forget to write a chapter.