Bury it With Me

by Jameson Parker

The afternoon was late and cold, as summer’s grip was losing hold

Sitting in my throne of study enthralled by words upon a page

Guidance of men greater than I, capture knowledge seeking eyes

But lightning stops me as I try, to pull some wisdom from their stage

Sparked from a source close as the skin, (instead of some forgotten age)

Where chattel carries all the rage.

This intermission of my mind pulls my gaze up to the shrine

Surrounding me just as the coffin that holds the man who built this tomb

In all the pieces on which I glance, nestled inside a thinking trance

I see not but a mental dance, a cycle of unyielding gloom

The mourning which I feel for him, is for time wasted in the womb

Of superficial loving doom.

For every revelation takes from their value while they break

The ties that held a weaker man to earthly item’s fleeting bond

That will not last the test of time, or passage to a plane sublime

And the only items that will climb up to the land of great beyond

Are not those which we hold and touch, but ones our minds were forced to spawn

As precious as a new day’s dawn.

Pulled from the depths of sudden dream, as thread is ripped from weakened seam

By rattling of source unknown through the handle on my door

A sound that caught me by surprise, now staring with my widened eyes

The unknown pushes fear to rise, of what the future has in store

But passion gives me cause to know what waits for me outside this door

Within this life there must be more.

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Jameson Parker is a production manager specializing in the field of industrial manufacturing from Northern Indiana. He writes a monthly column for a trade magazine covering the sign industry and was published in a legal journal during his college career. A recent discovery of faith has led him to creative writing in which he attempts to explore his success and failures while cultivating his relationship with God.