The Storyteller - Lost History
The Story of a person's life
Is honestly quite -- fleeting.
How easy it is to misplace or lose
To not find again - completely.
Though other's know -- small pieces
And parts of another's - life,
That is all --- just a chunk
Of someone else's strife.
Though we can shift through the dirt -
Dig through -- the memories
Trying to fit pieces together
In a single - crafted - story,
Like archaeologists -- we guess
Upon the meaning of the pottery.
A crucial piece is missing --
Our guesses are mere snobbery.
The other's thoughts are replaced,
We can only - guess - at what
Someone else may be thinking
And the - truth - of the matter is
That that really isn't adequate.
The Storyteller of that life is
The only - one - who can make it clear,
With no pieces missing, or shattered,
So we can hold that loved one dear.
The person who truly -- lived it --
It must be them - the Storyteller.
Because honestly who else can supply
A clear and detailed picture.
And without that precious knowledge
Of who you are and were - those left
Must uproot the flowers you planted
To find the remains you kept.
In Loving Memory of my Grandmother who recently passed away.