Tuesday, January 20, 2009

I Was Here

Why does a boy carve his name on a tree?
Or the first-born inherit the throne?
What is a sculptor inspiring to be,
When he spends half his life carving stone?

Kings build their tombs for the ages,
Poets and fools both fill up their pages,
What are we hoping for? What do we fear?
Something that will say, "At least I was here."

I say we yearn to leave something that lasts,
To be known for what little we've done.
Men tell their children the tales of the past,
And each man gives his name to his son.

Something in song or in story,
Something in blood, or something of glory,
Something that won't fade away in a year,
Something to tell the world, "Yes, I was here."

Well I will not flicker and die like an ember,
Too many men flicker and die,
I will leave something behind to remember,
Somehow I must, I know I must try.

I have no son, at least none I can claim,
And no patience for carving in stone,
All that I have are my skill and my name,
And a chance to make both of them known.

This is my key to the portal,
This is my chance to make something immortal,
Something that won't fade away in a year,
Something to say, "I was here."