April 9 - Someone to Bury Us

Someone to Bury Us

The urge to create children runs deep within the race.

   The cynics attribute it to everything

From biological urge to fear that when we die

   There will be no one left to bury us;

No one left to mourn when we are gone.

   But the cynics all are wrong.

We hold their little faces wet and red from being born

   In our hands and gaze in wonderment

Looking for traces of ourselves in the little faces 
   We suddenly would die for and know that we will live for.
Vanity, self-love," the skeptics say, "Vain copies of ourselves."

  The skeptics are all wrong.

We watch them grow, come to believe in us, copy us

   And when they go beyond us, our fondest hopes

In their triumphs are fulfilled. And we rise with them.

   "Just trophies," the doubters say, "Collected on the mantle –

An array of photos propped up, proof of our virility.

   The doubters too are wrong.

We know that they will one day draw away.

   Experience the miracle that we did.

Hold those tiny faces, searching for traces of themselves

   And maybe, if they remember, they will also see a trace of us.

We slip away at the end content, despite the cynics, the doubters and the skeptics.

   Smiling as we go, knowing what good we left behind.

© 2014 by Tom King