Some people ask about this from time to time, so here's the poem I read at the Baccalaureate. It's not "good" poetry by my current standards, but it's not about poetry, it's about memories.

A Little Dedication to Memories

A little dedication, I give
to memories,
to this small, short, sweet portal
we've come to see,
as we conquer the snow of the once
forbidden peaks.
We look, we watch, and so patiently
we seek
this one last sight -

the past present future universes
all mixed together here,
from above the first of many plateaus.
Looking down upon the valleys,
in them, everything that I have ever known -
every joy, every sorrow, every love,
every tear, every passion, every truth -
all mingle and mix,
form, reform,
and finally I have left some sense
of what reality is
and what I had thought it was.
Life, the kaleidoscope -
how can I let it go, these past few lifetimes;
just a little something I have left,
this view of yesterday;
just a little part of me left behind
to say thank you
and I hope to see you again
and I don't think I would have given it up
for all the tomorrows that might have ever existed;
just a little, soon to be overwhelmed,
thank you
to all those who have become little parts of me
and all those who I hope to always consider my friends.
With these spoken words
and the thoughts within,
do memories flourish
and worlds begin...
and so life as we know it ends...
I wish this moment would never occur.

How shall I say it?
How shall I dare sum up
these past few lifetimes,
our own little eternity...
"Fool enough to almost be it,
cool enough to not quite see it?"
No.
"With the lights out, it's less dangerous,
here we are now, entertain us?"
No.

Here's to the Class of Ninety-Five,
with pants sagged low, but hopes held high,
gathered this moment to say good-bye,
good-bye, this Class of Ninety-Five.
We've climbed these cliffs, their ends so high.
Now perched, to part, we must decide,
so much beyond, so much to find -
so high, our Class of Ninety-Five.
And what of this trail, we leave behind,
shall we forget its loving confines?
Could we ignore the curves and bends
once traversed, such delight they now lend.
In fond recollection we stare back down
through trees and boulders. We've made such bounds
since then, to be at this present junction.
And now swept away in Memory's suction,
I salute the teachers. I salute the friends.
I salute the parents, from which it began.
I salute the sports teams, their victories given -
in them, all knew, were state champions hidden.
And of pep rallies and class songs, and other such things,
I salute the shouts, "Let us Freedom sing!"
To bands, to choirs, to one-act plays,
to speech, to Musicals, to the Confused and the Dazed,
to murals, to T-shirts, I salute them all
as they into their final places do fall.

As I embrace nostalgia, for the first of many times,
I find myself wishing, wanting,
that we might never again descend this ridge,
this moment;
that we might just leap from peak to peak
as giants or birds,
never leaving our past trails for another,
never having to forget our moments here -
the Homecomings, the Proms, the Winter Balls
all mounting and mounting up to this grand adieu.
Oh that we might forever reside in such happy views
as youth.
But life must go on.
And now it is time to push on into new frontiers,
meeting new friends, cutting our own paths
through this wild terrain.
We must not forget.
We must always remember what we have experienced here,
in our youthful incubation.
We can not ignore the knowledge
of sciences, theologies; of friendships, heartbreak, and tragedy,
and to such memories as Kevin and Lee,
though we may cry our tears, we must remember ye.
And remember this little part of ourselves.

If only we had wings.
If only we might stumble upon some way
to understand the birds, the skies, the heavens.
Surely with us it can not be impossible -
for we shall know the truth,
and it shall set us free.
If only we had wings.

Here's to the Class of Ninety-Five,
on the eternal cliffs to ever reside,
I grant to thee the right to fly,
fly high, the Class of Ninety-Five.