Their Moment of Adoration

Standing in the crowd of tourists,
surrounded by ohhs and ahhs and history lessons,
you are photographing the poppies,
Those fresh pops of color that, in a few days
will no longer be with us.

You are familiar with ruins,
being one yourself, understanding
their worth and the value of restoration,
what stories they tell and the secrets they hold.
You understand all of it to your bones.

You understand the loss, be it things or love
or promises made to the wind. All things live.
All things cease.
All things deserve their moment
of adoration.

About this poem.

As I grow older, I have come to understand how my grandparents and great-grandparents talked so much of what had been lost in their lives. Youth. Friends. Places that mattered. I understand it, but I was also blessed with a grandfather who continually immersed himself in the moment. One of my fondest memories is riding the countryside in his old pickup truck, as he took in the state of crops that day, and the humidity that left a haze on the woodland. All in the moment.

A poem about loss. About the now. About the beauty all things have, and how all things deserve to be seen and admired and loved. Even sometimes, us.

The photograph was taken at the Forum in Rome.

Be well. Travel wisely,

Tom