Fullbeard Lit

Stephen Fuller *** Poetry, Essays

When Asked…, a first draft poem by Stephen Fuller

By ,

When asked what it is that my life meant to be

It was here that I stopped and saw what is to become

Becoming

So I stood still as I could and listened

I heard birds chirping,

Junco and chickadees, nuthatches and wren

Barely a sound of man to pollute my pause.

Like a stream that longs to gather at rocks

I gathered my soul

And so became becoming

Yes, perhaps these are words that twist upon themselves

Yet so do all words when left alone too long

I will resume now my walk,

I will resume now my becoming,

Now

That I know that becoming means

Everything

Like this birch tree right here,

as white as snow,

yet reaching ever upward into absolute

As the snow that mimics it

Gives us beauty for only moments,

But so precious they are

we preserve them in words,

Just as this tree preserves them in its bark.

I pause again

I go again

The crunch of snow

An ally I knew once

Now again, returned

To my side to point out

These words I had missed

On my way home

17 Responses to “When Asked…, a first draft poem by Stephen Fuller”

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