The Eremite
Oct. 8, 2010
Forlorn happiness, his mind’s deceit
Cracked fingers of abandoned days
As gray tufts in his head decays
Eyes are failing, his touch numb
His requiem beckons; the angels hum
Recluse is his twilight’s final joy
Deserted to the sea his last, his sinking buoy
In this old dark and unforgiving place
He makes his last defiant gaze
Onto a place need still traverse
Alas life on the cursed limbs dispersed
As he face his mortality with sad accepting grace
A dab of regret for all the things he can’t retrace
Though life is full of fears and fakes
He lived his brave and true; no false weepers in his wake
In his heart a slight smile; consolation of a dying mind
For his time, his life wasn’t undefined.
