The Collection

This book sits on a coffee table.
Handed down, generation to generation.
Only one exists
As time persists.

It tells the story of my life.
A collection of poems spilled out
As the present turned into past.
Written for the future.

To be found.
To be timeless.
To be profound.
To be a guide.

Written for my children
So that they might know me.
So that they might remember
That life is to be lived consciously.

As I spent time away
In my mind writing these words.
Thinking of the moment when
This book would sit unread.

Collecting dust on this table.
So that they might have me.
Collected and bound.
One day, to know my love.