The Storyteller’s Funeral

The Storyteller’s funeral

 

I’d promised myself

I’d find time to see

The Storyteller.

His funeral is today.

Gone in a flash.

 

I’d promised myself

I would record

His wisdom

When I could find the time.

 

I know the stories

Are retold

In the memories

Of all who loved him.

But what if

I do not find the time

To listen to them?

But what if

Their retelling loses

Much in translation?

As for me

I don’t even remember

Where I left the car keys.

What hope have I got

Of accurate recall?

 

Something must change

Before we lose another

Storyteller.

I cannot serve

God and Mammon

Nor

God and Chronos.

The Reaper Grim

Catches the corner of my eye

With his grinning scythe.

 

From the age of reason

Throughout the age of industry

And in the age of information

I have bowed my knee

To time and money.

“I haven’t got time!”

I’ve cried.

But now

He’s died.

[.Period.]

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