All Nonfiction
- Bullying
- Books
- Academic
- Author Interviews
- Celebrity interviews
- College Articles
- College Essays
- Educator of the Year
- Heroes
- Interviews
- Memoir
- Personal Experience
- Sports
- Travel & Culture
All Opinions
- Bullying
- Current Events / Politics
- Discrimination
- Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking
- Entertainment / Celebrities
- Environment
- Love / Relationships
- Movies / Music / TV
- Pop Culture / Trends
- School / College
- Social Issues / Civics
- Spirituality / Religion
- Sports / Hobbies
All Hot Topics
- Bullying
- Community Service
- Environment
- Health
- Letters to the Editor
- Pride & Prejudice
- What Matters
- Back
Summer Guide
- Program Links
- Program Reviews
- Back
College Guide
- College Links
- College Reviews
- College Essays
- College Articles
- Back
Life Story
I hunt through the cramped attic of a house in the South;
Uninhabited for years; the taste of dust fills my mouth.
A buttonhole carnation, kept to reminisce;
A crumpled wedding veil from their first, joyful, kiss.
A ’29 Journal says the markets have gone ill;
A worn Bible still conceals a ten-dollar-bill.
A young boy’s cap, a toy soldier, a baby-blue rattle;
A corporal’s insignia, sole survivor from some great battle.
A stethoscope, a new calling, two faded passports;
Some overseas letters, evidence of church support.
A guest book, a record player, a set of kitchen knives;
A bag of golf clubs, accustomed to master drives.
A tank of oxygen in the corner, some folded white sheets;
A few last photographs, and the doctor’s receipts.
In the garden, a joint headstone, some flowered accents;
Grateful words engraved, proof of lives well spent.
I leave the place, thoughtful, motivated, intent;
To make my life mean as much as their lives meant.
Similar Articles
JOIN THE DISCUSSION
This article has 1 comment.