Nothing Is Ours Poem by RoseAnn V. Shawiak
Nothing Is Ours
Sometime in life we all find that we are only temporary
beings, just renting space here on earth.
Nothing to call our own, filling our time with family,
friends, careers, recreation, at times remembering to
recharge our spirituality by going to church on a Sunday.
Quietly going about our business, thinking, building a
life full of dreams and hopes, yet in the end they all
end up burning.
Nothing but ashes are left, just like our bodies turn
to dust and we return once again to earth.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/22/2024 8:15:46 PM # 1.0.0.1119
This is another poem of steel-eyed realism, the title alone shows that, but you spell it out memorably in the third stanza. Your correlation of the body decaying into dust and our hope and dreams burning down to ashes is very compelling. I did not find that closing depressing, because it has the ring of truth, it's the way the world is but that's not ALL OF REALITY - in the second stanza your reference to Sunday church shows there is an element of spirituality which is mysteriously but genuinely present - that's reason enough for hope.