Finally, It All Ends

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Photo Credit: Unsplash

Everything to end is made,
To impending loss well laid;
Passing life we hold most dear,
To waiting grave is drawing near;
The mem’ries made in bliss,
Soon their fateful last will kiss;
For, everything will fade,
To nothingness.

On the margins of leased time,
Mortal breath expires its rhyme;
Low crescendo notes of woe,
Each rising strain of mirth below;
And, though days as bright and fair,
Draw each frame onwards graves’ lair:
For this the end’s the aim,
And wear and tear.


As featured poem on Spillwords.com

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A Song in September

Photo by Joel Holland on Unsplash

The leaves have gathered green again,
The birds float in so new a song,
Flowers bud on the verdure plain,
As if there was no winter-cold among.

Sweet resurrection, this now seem—
‘O tis! My faith and countenance,
Blend in to such new vernal theme:
Likewise, greet life anew in greener sense!

Sonnet: Memento Mori

Photo by Tommaso Pecchioli on Unsplash

Life is a leaf a-hanging on a tree,
Glossy-green at the rising of the sun:
There dew a-dropping sodward into none;
A welcomer of Spring to many a bee.
Then, something sapless happens suddenly;—
The harvest’s past, the boughs are cold and dun;
The chilly Messenger of death has run
The green back to the roots by wintery
Assaults. Then, gravity augments the toll:
Leaves turn a-paling, lifeless, and incline
Earthward—alas! and dive in a free fall,
Withered and dead at last: so is the shine
Of life of man, dimmed out at age or fate,
Once life-full in a luminous estate.