On A Multitude Of Lives

A Poem by Colin Kingsden

here is the truth:

I am leaving soon. Nine days?

ten? It makes no difference in

the end.

This is not to say that I am to

be gone forever, or even long.

It is simply to say that I have

other lives to tend to for now.

What was it that Thoreau said

when he left Walden pond?

I left the woods

for as good a reason as I went

there. Perhaps it seemed to me

that I had several more lives to

live, and could not spare any

more time for that one.

Packing up is not

erasing. No - it is simply to say

that the mold of this life is now

complete:

with it, the memories of these

days can be justly preserved,

and the path to my next life

should appear less unclear,

if not wholly evident; I have

walked these grounds before.

Our past lives,

after all, are only such until

the time comes for them to

return to us.

Like the seasons, they come

and go. We live to tend to their

needs, and they reward us

with so much more than luck.

© 2015 Colin Kingsden

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Reviews

MFrano1

I've never read a poem like this prior to clicking on this one, but I wish I had. I love this style and you do it perfectly. Being an insufficient poem writer myself, you can't have any idea how jealous I am of your perfect technique and skill. I'm reading a poem but it's like I'm reading so much more- it has more to it than the normal stanzas, it has resounding thought and emotion and truth... This moves me.