The Measure of a Man

“That is it!” a man says to his son;
I’ve done my part, and now my rest is won;
To seek my peace in world that’s hard and cold;
Of joy to find before that I am old.

How to rate the measure of a man?
A lifetime spent; of work and wait and plans;
At times the fight brings vict’ries pure and true;
But usually to lose is what we do.

We always hope that there is something more;
That there’s an epic task we have in store;
Our dues are paid and now our time has come;
And finally there’s nothing to shrink from.

But what if all our struggles are for naught?
Nothing can we show for what we’ve fought;
Can we make peace with lives not lived out loud?
When at the end there is no maddened crowd?

When off into the quiet we do stride;
And no-one left does know that we abide;
Will history be kind to life lived small?
Or will we be remembered not at all?

No easy answer to this sacred poll;
If at the end we can’t assert our role;
There is one thing that I’ve however judged;
Which helps me toward the end without a grudge.

The world, a placid pond is best described;
And each of us are rocks, though different sized.
Each rock, though small a gentle ripple makes;
And ripple into wave, time passing makes.

Advertisements

About Joel D. Hirst

Joel D. Hirst is a novelist and a playwright, author of four novels. The most recent is "I, Charles, From the Camps" about the life of a young man in the African camps. Other works include "Lords of Misrule", "The Lieutenant of San Porfirio" and its sequel "The Burning of San Porfirio".
This entry was posted in Poetry, Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

w

Connecting to %s