Evolution

The sentimentality of endings

Itself comes to an end.

There is no velvet curtain,

No fountain of champagne,

No valediction of the horn.

Neither are beginnings anymore.

The story of our life

Slurs one passage to the next,

Imperceptible and constant.

The wind and rain of ages

Turns mountains into hills,

And drops of water form

The spires of the caves,

And even footsteps will deform

A staircase made of stone.

The language of our ancestors

Confounds the living,

And the son no longer speaks

The way his father spoke.

The kettle grows tepid,

And the young grow old.

Reviews

[LJW]

The only thing constant is change.

Really like how you interpreted that in this piece.

[DAH]

"The kettle grows tepid" –– a powerful metaphor signaling the moments giving way to death: "The wind and rain of ages" –– lovely ––))

[Jasper]

Wow. This is so absolutely beautiful, I wish I could write like this. Truly, you inspire me more than I can convey.

[Casey Truax]

Keep writing. Keep reading. Keep exploring.

[Carlos Lorenzo Estrada]

A wonderful poem and true in so many ways. Thank you for sharing your poem Casey.

[John the Baptist]

Indeed, nothing stays the same. Never has. As Brother Heraclitus so aptly put it, you can't step in the same river twice.

[Casey Truax]

His philosophy is very fitting to the theme.