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What will be written on my heart

What truths will endure

When all the jostle of this life

And language ae no more;

When conversation and debate,

Invective, boast or prayer

Have run their course, and drifted off

Like smoke, into the air?

What will survive when I am gone

If what I've left in print

Does not reflect what's in my heart,

What I feel and think;

And how can these amorphous words

Ever hope to be

More than a distant mirage

With little that is me?

And will this futile pleading

To try to prove that I

Was more aware of what you were

Before we both should die,

Be enough to overcome

The limits of these words

Which want so much to tell the truth

Yet always seem absurd

When faced with love that reaches out

Beyond the sterile spree

Of words on paper, trusting that

You'll know the best of me.

Brian Hick March 2015

©copyright Sally Hick 16.3.26