Pixels in the Sink

My words endure beyond my death.

Fresh and rested though I woke that day,

At the sight of my desk and my chair,

My soul rebelled, and I thought: “No way

Can I spend another whole day there!”

Yet that was the life I ever chose,

New in country, lost among the streets.

All rebellion has drawn to a close;

My child, my words, beyond my life you greet.

And thus was my splendid life of ink

More than only pixels in the sink.

Head bent, neck bowed, fingers to the keys,

I whiled off all days of dwindling time,

In deep comfort saying No to ease;

And my words, they never made a dime.

Yet I ever lived beyond my death.

Life was, to me, that my words endure,

Ever to be still my living breath,

In death live, robust, pristine, and pure.

And thus was my splendid life of ink

More than only pixels in the sink.

Take for you what my life ever wrought,

Words that live my death as I died life;

Only for them life I ever sought,

With them have forever I yet bought.

Of their own will my words me now sing.

O’er my dust, my specks, my true life ring!

As thus was my splendid life of ink

More than only pixels in the sink.

Author's Note

This is a poem written for writers. It should speak to the feeling some of us have about our work, which the general public may not be able to understand.