Will there be,
the footprints left
at least a while,
before
the wind & waves
have washed away
all traces left
of me?
Me, myself
ambitions gone?
Yet, forgotten is
much better
than remembered
& despised.
So, listen to the wind
rejoice
and you may
hear the voices
of ambitions lost
from footprints
washed away.
Today Punam hosts dVerse Poetics and the prompt is to write a self-reflictive poem.
April 30, 2024
Björn Rudbergs writings 
Haunted by the past!
The past and a future unknown.
Those footprints always fade away with the waves. I would love to believe those ambitions are never gone. Love your unique title and photo too.
They will and maybe it is a good thing.
This is such a haunting poem, Björn, and I love the footprints metaphor, it’s so effective. I love these lines:
‘rejoice
and you may
hear the voices
of ambitions lost
from footprints
washed away.’
Thank you… most people leave no legacy and most of those remembered are infamous
The title is so good and your last stanza so wise and deep. Love it, Björn.
Thank you, it was a quick write… but it made sense to me.
You are welcome. Sometimes one doesn’t need a lot of time to write something good.
Most people like to think they’ll be remembered, but that’s just vanity on the brink of oblivion. How many poets or their poems are remembered ten years after they’re gone? A century? We all become wind.
I think we do… and if we listen maybe we can hear their voices in the wind.
where would ambition lead us if we let it just off into the wind.
very profound thoughts
much♡love
I enjoyed how the poem circled back to the footprints washed away.
oh Bjorn, how poignant. Surely each gain will remember your imprint. Your book is in his library.
I like the idea of a lifetime being footprints that wash away with time. Some things remain though. The ambitions that led to achievements and the memories of one’s life and work held in the hearts of others.
We’re all in this together, Bjorn. I remember just before my mother passed away at 95yrs of age, lamenting that she hadn’t accomplished anything in her life and that she had left no legacy. I gently chided her, replying that she had left her DNA within 4 children, 9 grandchildren and 11 great grandchildren. She had been a war bride, a farmer, a writer of poetry, etc etc etc and in my eyes she had shown great courage in her days here on earth. I don’t think we know just how we leave our footprints upon others.
Some are ash, and some are Ash. It’s the first letter learned, but too easily forgotten, and then discarded. Proper nouns…
A very evocative poem Bjorn. We do wished to be remembered kindly after we are gone.
“and you may
hear the voices
of ambitions lost
from footprints
washed away.”
Elegantly woven, Bjorn. 🙂
Like grass withers, flowers fall, we are remembered no more…a humbling (and comforting?) perspective, Bjorn. Nice selfie you shared with the cherry blossoms!
The natural world may try to ‘wash’ us away. But the wind and waves will never steal our essence. LOVELY!
Yet, forgotten is
much better
than remembered
& despised.
Very well done, Bjorn.
I picked this out to comment on too. Someone tell Mr Trump!
I love the title “Windvoiced”. I think we can hear much more than most people realize, especially those of us who are in tune with the natural world.
Oh yes. I so agree. Forgotten is so much better than remembered and despised.
Like Dale, I have to concur: better to be forgotten than despised. Yet for all that, are we really forgotten in a universe that shelters us despite ourselves and exists on an eternal scale not of our own making?
I find comfort in being forgotten, but maybe just a part of the wind…
Footprints in the sand remind me of blowing in the wind. Gone in the blink of an eye. Your poem reminds us of that. I love the footprint…if it’s yours … it’s healthy and perfectly formed.
I think it’s mine, it was an old photo I found.
I feel like you show another side of a common thought with the poem; it just makes me think of all the things, events or people that we wish to forget, but it just does not happen. I often wonder if those, in ether, would speak like your poem does and wish also, for forgetfulness.