Whispers of Legacy

This poem is taken from my backlog of written poems and was previously posted to medium. I hope it is enjoyable to read. Feel free to critique any aspect of it. I hope it is moving or entertaining! Thanks for reading!

10/1/2023 Whispers of Legacy:

Every hour of every day- I sense it

An odd scratching that plagues the edges of awareness

Soft whispering relegated to my ears alone

Words of men wrought with tears

See, pain is the most universal tool of the communicator

And the dead use it through me

An inflictor

An implement

An infusion of living

So many soft dreams jab my sides

Tearing and holes already wide

They urge me forward and pull me up

Anytime I rest to supp

They tell me things, their wants and yearns, the placement of their urns

See these things they lost, but they live through me

Enough of them, piled, to leave me buried

I wish to honor them and honor myself

But too many voices rest on my shelf

Some seek to stab me in total stealth

So ever vigilant, I must be a protector of deadened wealth

And though each year my shoulders broaden

For each inch a dozen forms harken

A thousand years of misread goals that I misread to forever be told

For I have no dreams of myself- the voices have stolen them

They keep my eyes propped open

A million hands clawing and cracked

And not a one can I let go

It is my lot to seize their throes

And so I bend to their behest, a ghostly servant in living chess

And mightily, one day, as my head is bowed, I will join their cacophony, screaming some poor soul.