Pins

This poem was originally posted 1/5/09.  I am sharing it again for Independence Day.  Thank you to those who sacrified – so we could all write without fear.

 

On his lapel, stood pins of distinction.

Signaling fame, however ephemeral

cast in the communality of the iron of endurance

bred by those who walked before him.

 

He did not know them.

In fact, many have long since been forgotten.

As will he, when his pins are left discarded

in a tiny felt lined box

in the attics of memory

where the nuisances of unimportance

are moved with a shambling gate

from one corner to another.

 

Then one day, the curiosity of youth stumbled upon the box –

Blew the dust into the air, opened the lid

and aired the memories of forgotten ideals

cast aside by the arrogant certainty of purpose,

so much a part of the youth’s father.

 

The grandson’s eyes lit up with undoubting gleam –

the brilliance of hope – of endurance beyond adversity.

He grasped the pins and wore them to school the next day –

and into the school yard.

From thence, he set his course as if for mankind

to achieve some deed beyond his means.

As he grew, he treasured those ideals and pins.

Walked steadfast in his grandfather’s footsteps with pride.

 

For humanity he eventually touched this terrestrial sphere ever so

perceptibly.

When he breathed his last sigh, they placed the pins on his lapel

and put a folded flag at his fingertips.

Before they closed the lid, his son removed the pins –

and they gave him the flag.

 

And – as was the custom – with complacent smugness and disdain,

The pins were thereafter sold at the next garage sale.

 

Ray Brown