His Journal

January 16, 2010
By Haley Robinson SILVER, Cary, North Carolina
Haley Robinson SILVER, Cary, North Carolina
7 articles 1 photo 0 comments

This book is all that’s left of him now.
Each word imprinted is a word of him.
A word of him that will never be said again.
A thought of his recorded.
Tears will forbid to start—
with faltering lip and throbbing brow,
I press it to my heart.

For several years

for several laughs
for several tears (of both angst and joy)
for several dialogs (in which we grew close).
Here his spirit is imprinted!
His hand this diary clasped by the ink of pen daily.
I long to hear his voice out loud (but I can only hear it echo in my head now),
gentle like a spring breeze but crisp as an apple.
For all that remains is his words,
similar to his voice but filled with memories of past and present
but little speak of the future.

My heart would thrill to see him again
but silent lips of the dead can’t speak
as his thoughts do on paper.
His body will never be able (again)
but his spirit, soul, and voice live on paper
for all eternity to hear.

The author's comments:
While I was visiting family in Florida, my Grandfather revealed how he found a family bible dating back before they migrated to the USA from Ireland.Inside, I found a poem written by asuming a realtive that was cut out of a newspaper. I then used the poem to inspire my Project 365 of that day. This is how the poem goes:
My Mother's Bible
This book is all that’s left me now,
tears will forbidden start—
with faltering lip and throbbing brow
I press it to my heart.
For many generations past,
here is our family tree!
My mother’s hand this Bible clasped
she, dying, gave it to me.

Ah! Well do I remember those
who names those records bear,
who round the hearthstone used to close
after the evening prayer.
And speak of what these pages said,
in tones my heart would thrill
though they are with the silent dead,
here they are living still!

My father read this holy book
to brothers, sisters, dear;
how calm was my poor mother’s look,
who pleased God’s word to hear.
Her angel face—I see it yet!
What thronging memories come;
again that little group is met
within the halls of home!

Thou truest friend man ever knew,
thy constancy I’ve tried;
when all were false I found then true,
my counselor and guide.
The mines of earth no treasure give
that could this volume buy;
in teaching me the way to live,
it taught me to die.

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This article has 1 comment.

Veege said...
on Jan. 28 2010 at 11:20 am
This one makes my throat clog up and catch my breath! Thanks for sharing.


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