21 (poem)

By Luke Labern

Two numbers with great weight within
Have always lingered in the background
Behind which confidence has been
A humming, omnipresent sound.

Let the number be twenty-one
And the stanzas be one to four:
Take my religion to be none
And let my life pass into lore.

Do judge me upon my death bed
But only ever from the source:
Ignore what the others have said
And let my words run their own course.

When I am with life contrasted
When all's been said, and I'm done:
Whether or not my works have lasted
Know that I lived aged twenty-one.