Instead, I Will Grow - Michael St. James
Into a deep darkness I may fall.
Shame, pride, there is nothing left
to build, to destroy, yet, we’re never gone.
Never tied to color, not far, not near
never close to becoming someone else.
Instead, I will grow.
So, let’s not seed words, taunt to grow
and expect to die, so soon before fall.
What if spring had no winter, where else
would we bloom? Would we tend to what’s left?
Could you deny regret if the end was near?
Who would mourn the memory if never gone.
What becomes of what’s never gone
of what never ceases to be. What will grow?
We will be indelible, unworthy of a history near
or a future far, if no line divides a rise and fall.
No longer will those who come after find what’s left.
It will be intact, working, immortal or else.
And there will be those who relish something else
A small and mighty choir singing of what is gone.
Those who mourn for mourns sake, blind to what’s left.
Tyrants of history encasing flowers that once would grow
for all sun shall shade and rain surely fall.
Past lives are never any further than they are near
Shake that desire to keep all you’ve lost near
be that blade of of grass, drenched in summer, ‘else
be that tree defiant of the fall.
Both to be remembered, revered, forgotten and gone.
Of what never ceases to be, how can it grow?
When there is nothing left to lose, truly nothing’s left
Endure, care for what will come, tend to what’s left
We will test the seasons one at a time, the next ever near.
We will bless that which dies, for again it will grow.
Life will spring forth from sun, water and little else
Remember and revere all that has come before, all that’s gone
We will risk, replace, we’ll rise and gladly fall.
We are what’s left, the memory and nothing else
The end is never near, for the future is never gone
Instead, I will grow, imperfectly rise and gloriously fall