the future
the future
to wish to be young again writing a poem to a lover
only to awaken old and gray near the time of dying
what was can never be the same as sad spirits hover
giving of night taking of day making a truth of lying
to kiss the beloved a first time to hold to with desire
a scent of death now coming from these aged clothes
to sour vinegar from wine a last fluttering of the fire
to reconcile a final summing of a heart long enclosed
accepting weakness of strength a loss of life’s power
as the fingers strain to lift the burdens that are given
years no longer measure length seconds only cower
all is wasted of the gift and the final nails are driven
the future reached to forever as the past is discarded
seeking one more endeavor of a soul now unguarded