Author: Mark Spencer


Matthew built a house for Laura,
The girl he hoped to wed.
For when it came to loving her,
He was out of his head.

Love was etched into the floorboards,
The walls and rafters too,
It was forged into the staircase,
Crowned by that ocean view.

They were married in the summer
Of eighteen ninety three.
In the fifty years that followed,
They built their family.

And then in nineteen forty six,
Laura’s life slipped away.
Matthew followed four months later,
On Independence Day.

Their children sold the house that Fall,
For thirty thousand gold.
And then in nineteen fifty eight,
Again the house was sold.

Seven more times the house changed hands,
From then until today.
And in that time, its history
Was lost along the way.

No one recalls who lived there first,
Nor why it came to be.
What was one man’s dream, has become
A piece of property.

Possessions will outlive us all,
Of that fact, be assured.
And with time’s relentless passing,
Their stories are obscured.

There are so many untold tales,
And each one is unique.
What a story that house could tell,
If it could only speak.

Your home, your car, your precious things,
Will share this paradigm.
Everything will be forgotten,
With the passage of time.

For no one looks beyond right now;
The future or the past.
And so, what is will always be,
For right now’s never last.

Our history is filled with them,
Though lost to time’s mystique.
Remembered by a house, or car;
And things that cannot speak.


Comments on this poem/writing:

Megan ( -- Friday, September 28 2007, 09:17 pm

Wow, Wow, Wow!!!

I never thought of it that way before. The Hebrews used to chronicle the lives of every generation; like a pedigree. But we're so caught in our own lives, and our "right now's" that we don't try to remember what came before. That is until it's us who came before. Wow, this is so profound. I'm in awe.
Russ ( -- Friday, October 5 2007, 10:06 am

Here, here.

I completely agree with Megan's statement. This is very profound. People do only seem to care about right now, don't they? We've got global changes on the horizon, and when they come, I doubt many will be prepared. Not only do we not seem to care about the past, we're oblivious to how we are going to affect the future. Mr. Spencer, I wish everyone would read this poem. It might do them some good, and wake them from their daze.
Justus Isaiah Richardson ( -- Thursday, October 11 2007, 04:44 am

You know what I like about you?

Ninety percent of everything you write means something. You always offer the most amazing insights, designed to bring understanding to the reader. As a reader, I appreciate that. While other poets are writing about their FEELINGS, you write about things that open my eyes. Everyone else writes about flowers, or nature, while you explain where nature came from. Some poets are very good at writing pretty words that, in the greater scheme of things, mean absolutely nothing. It is too bad that you had the experience that you did with those publishers; I would have purchased a copy of your book for myself, and for every member of my family. Thanks for meaning something bro, I, for one, am grateful.

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