Pallor of Death

Pallor of Death

Pallor of Death

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Like a blind man who can’t see his

fate but feels it coming like a thief

in the night an old man grey and

ready for sleep puts out the fire and

thinks about closing his book to nod

off and dream while dark shadows

surround his hearth and flutter among

the memories in his chamber.

 

Who will remember who he was or

attend his wake that awaits him in the

end or cares that death has overtaken

him but might he rise like a Phoenix

again from his final journeys end.

 

Shall his soul fly away and find a

place of rest among lost friends and

ancestors from his ancient past while

pagan Celtic speech slurs the words

and echoes Merlin’s songs and spells

for peace at King Arthur’s court.

 

Very proud he was though they say

pride does take its fall like autumn

leaves trampled over foot a proud man

awaits his final end and death eats at

every man’s bone knowing he has

created death from birth.

 

He lived in joy and hearty laugh

as a young man death was but a

silly word murmured by silly old

men who dripped and stooped like

blown over weeds bending on

a windy day.

 

He bends down to stoke the dying

embers and feels loves glowing dim

and like a shooting star that vanishes

with the approaching dawn his face

shines for the last time amongst

the glowing stars.

 

So pacing in worried astonishment

deaths pallor overtakes every man

at some time all the bark has peeled

from his leathered weathered frame

yet looks death in the face he flips

back his head with a laughing eye

winks without an angry word he sighs.

 

Let the scribes record in the book of

life a man’s worth is what he left for

others not in gold or silver but in

kindness and charity to his fellows.

 

For greed and avarice marks and scars

one’s soul and when the bugler blows

your last farewell be proud to go

departing on the honor roll.

 

© Copyright by Vincent Moore. All rights reserved


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