The Inheritance-What We Carry

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We inherit more than silver or land,

More than old rings or stitched linen by hand.

It's in the silence, the looks, the weight—

In love passed down, and fear innate.


In letters kept, in half-told tales,

In softened eyes and weathered nails,

Lie all the dreams they dared to chase—

And all the pain they tried to erase.


Through generations, the thread is spun,

Of battles fought and races run.

We wear their joy, we bear their cost,

And live among the found and lost.


Some gifts arrive with ribboned grace,

And others etched on heart and face.

The pride, the grief, the ancient songs—

All handed down, both rights and wrongs.


We carry names, we bear the trace

Of choices made we can't replace.

And though some legacies bring pain,

They shape the soul as much as gain.


A father's silence, a mother’s prayer,

A wound that lingers in the air.

Not all that's given can be seen—

Some heirlooms haunt, and some redeem.


But through the fragments, we discern the gleam,

And find new pathways from a broken dream.

We mend the rifts, with choices bold and true,

And weave the old with what we dare to do.


But still we sort what we receive—

The truths we hold, the myths we leave.

We sift the ashes, find the flame,

And write new chapters with their name.


So let us honor what endures:

The strength, the flaws, the open doors.

For what we keep and what we mend

Becomes the legacy we send.

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