My silent claim to fame: A poem 

The figurines of reason and logic evaporate on my shelf 

I may have forgotten my aspirations, but not forgotten myself 

The tribulations of cause and purpose may last until twelve 

But I know I can reach the height, if I keep the dig and delve 

I have little periwinkles that stand the test of weather 

Their stalks are made of steel, their petals are of leather 

You can only be mine if you choose to know me better 

I never quaked from the harsh winter, I am warm as a sweater 

My fingers are made of chalk that write the thoughts I talk 

If you dare to stand by me, I will, my door, steadily unlock, 

and take you inside, show you the moorings at my dock, 

show you the bed of my foundations, that are hard as a rock 

I will tell you I hasten with duty, even if nobody listens 

My wish may not be published, but I am still on a keel even 

It is not money and fame but faith and belief that enriches 

The thoroughfare of integrity and dignity, if one cherishes 

When God takes me, I’ll be as humble and mute as stone 

The judge will know how I fought, and that I fought alone 

Only on the inside of my grave, inscribe my three names 

That will be all that distinguishes me, my silent claim to fame