The Museum of Life
by Steve Loggins
8/4/2010
Museums have a special task, each a place where man reflects
on beauty, history, genius, art; we’re proud... is what I suspect.
Sometimes we find a strange museum, dedicated to the obscure
or a horrible event we must not repeat as long as civility endures.
But, when you think of it, life can be an epic museum of sorts
we store up events in our memory to give us some support.
We take our photos to remind us of the life that we now live
or record how it used to be, and who, what, how life gives.
Our museum starts with a baby’s cry - oh, blessed sound at birth!
It ends with a rattling gasp for air - when pain may end at death.
What lies between these mortal events, is the museum of our life
whose galleries show to all around, what we valued, what was rife
Does it show a loving family? Does it show us goodly things?
Is our museum a horror tale? Will it make us weep or sing?
Every day we fill the rooms up with our actions and our deeds
When others come to see our display, will it show that we succeed?
And then there is the Curator, He whom we must not forget
For He’s the One who keeps it all, to Him we owe the debt.
Life itself is a gift to us, to waste or build anew
When others look upon our life, may they see that we were true.