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