To My Posterity Poem by Brian Maloney

Standing in a moment where the birds ride on a gale.
The sinking sun has just begun to let darkness make colors pale.
Sensing something in the air, I sigh as I exhale.
All around I feel the night describe to me its lively tales.

Sitting in a moment where the sun’s now dipped beneath.
The fireflies accent the trees as they gently ride the breeze.
When I die, I can think of one thing I bequeath;
the lullaby that crickets cry from sitting in the summer’s heat.

And if to grasp this moment, I reflect on battles won
Glory, ground, and greed and all the people they fought on
But thinking of these heroes, and their war for their own hues
I can think of no where better to rest my sword than nature’s dew.

Now laying in this moment as I board my final flight,
I jump into the jet stream of this fairy tale night.
And thinking on the many times that I haven’t been alright,
If you surround yourself with poetry, there is no reason to write.