that's it


I do not know
or shall I know
the measure of my life

is it that I wrote a bit

is it that I tried to be good
well most of the time

is it that I was loved
and loved to the limits of my heart

is it that I walked too many paths
to find the one path fitting me

is it that I joked too much
at times most serious
when the dead could not laugh back

is it that I loved my crazy home
where people still talked 
and not treated as mad for it

or is it that I simply loved
the quiet, the lonely, the open places
where the heart nay soul could fly
unhindered in the western breeze
above the storming sea

that's it

Poetry by Peter Humphreys The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 536 times
Written on 2015-11-05 at 12:42

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Rik The PoetBay support member heart!
Gives one pause for thought. Well written and enjoyed the read.

Ashe The PoetBay support member heart!
I think we never know until it's over and it's the survivors who will know. This is so beautiful!

This resonates Peter. When I was sixty I had such questions and conversations with myself . . . now that I'm seventy I find I don't have need of them, and any answers will come from those who love and survive me. I'm content with who I am in the place I am and have been all my life. Perhaps though, as you end your poem with your answer, I have as well in a way.

Nancy Sikora The PoetBay support member heart!
It is better to walk too many paths; in a path that fits seamlessly there are no stories to tell.

This is so lovely Peter and what i have come to expect from your work.:)
I could read this forever.