What tale shall be whispered of thee
When shadows swallow thy name?
Shall they speak of a tyrant’s decree,
Or a hand that uplifted the lame?
Didst thou rob from the weak in their plight,
Or sow seeds where compassion would grow?
A builder of bridges to light,
Or a harbinger cloaked in woe?
What words shall carve thy epitaph deep,
A thought for the living to keep?
Remember, my friend, with each breath we borrow,
Nothing endures—not even the morrow.
The nightingales sing—but their song fades away,
As fleeting as dusk at the end of the day.
We all tread upon shifting sand,
An undeniable, silent command,
Inscribed by fate, unrefined,
Etched in the scrolls of time.
The just and unjust alike depart,
Whether noble of soul or dark of heart;
Yet all shall leave, through right or wrong,
Footprints faint, yet lingering long—
Woven into the sands of time,
A legacy, whispered in rhyme.
Jan 17
Jan 17, 2026 at 2:30 PM UTC
What tale shall be whispered of thee
When shadows swallow thy name?
Shall they speak of a tyrant’s decree,
Or a hand that uplifted the lame?
Didst thou rob from the weak in their plight,
Or sow seeds where compassion would grow?
A builder of bridges to light,
Or a harbinger cloaked in woe?
What words shall carve thy epitaph deep,
A thought for the living to keep?
Remember, my friend, with each breath we borrow,
Nothing endures—not even the morrow.
The nightingales sing—but their song fades away,
As fleeting as dusk at the end of the day.
We all tread upon shifting sand,
An undeniable, silent command,
Inscribed by fate, unrefined,
Etched in the scrolls of time.
The just and unjust alike depart,
Whether noble of soul or dark of heart;
Yet all shall leave, through right or wrong,
Footprints faint, yet lingering long—
Woven into the sands of time,
A legacy, whispered in rhyme.
This poem is a meditation on legacyon what remains when power, praise, and presence fade. It asks not how long we live, but how we are remembered.
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