The Whisper - a poem
By Tony DeLorger © 2011
Inherent the knowledge of my forebears,
the weight of their pained lives
heavy in the recesses of my consciousness.
Their dreams, their hopes for better life,
like a whisper in my mind,
a distant calling, a connection of blood.
I hear their pleas, their mistakes and misgivings,
like a ghostly teacher from the clouds of past.
Their blood surges through my veins,
their thoughts the beginning of mine.
I feel their eyes upon my back, urging me,
supporting me, to carry on their hopes,
their lives to a richer conclusion.
I am indebted to these spectres of my blood,
my ancestry carried forward.
They are my beginnings, my accountability,
for what I achieve gives credence to their being.
Sometimes I study my reflection, and see their faces,
so many, rich and poor, gleeful and despondent,
echoing in my mind, urging me.
I look upon my children and see myself,
my beginnings carried forward.
I will soon become yet another spectre,
part of the flow of blood, a well of ancestral being.
I hope my achievements inspire them to look forward,
but to also hear that whisper of the past,
and acknowledge our beginnings.
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