I empty myself of the names of others. I empty my pockets.
I empty my shoes and leave them beside the road.
At night I turn back the clocks;
I open the family album and look at myself as a boy.
What good does it do? The hours have done their job.
I say my own name. I say goodbye.
The words follow each other downwind.
I love my wife but send her away.
My parents rise out of their thrones
into the milky rooms of clouds. How can I sing?
Time tells me what I am. I change and I am the same.
I empty myself of my life and my life remains.
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Comments about this poem (The Remains by Mark Strand )
Sheldon Allan Silverstein
(September 25, 1930 – May 10, 1999)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(22 March 1941 -)
Michael P. McParland
(July 19 1983)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
Edna St. Vincent Millay
(22 February 1892 – 19 October 1950)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
- If, Rudyard Kipling
- If You Forget Me, Pablo Neruda
- Still I Rise, Maya Angelou
- Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night, Dylan Thomas
- The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost
- Dreams, Langston Hughes
- Daffodils, William Wordsworth
- Invictus, William Ernest Henley
- Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening, Robert Frost
- Your Laughter, Pablo Neruda
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