Mortality

Mortality

There is a knock, a sunset touch, so near;
And is there time to still know fear?
The veil is so close, and closer still:
A life so short, so much yet to fulfil,
An hourglass swiftly running out of sand;
A darkening sky, clouds across the land,
Bare trees, icy fingers, pointing in the night,
And the cold, cold days of winter’s blight;
It happens to us all, but not now, not here,
Rain pouring down, heavens weep, a tear;
Cold the stones, dragged, set, upon high place:
The portal in which to know death’s face;
And they remain, echoes, whispers of past,
Of ancient bones, crumbling, gone at last,
Wind, cold, seeping through flesh, slices,
Mourning ahead, adorn body with spices;
Night falls, the crimson blood red sun,
And now the race is over, barely run;
And the ending is ahead, so final, stark,
Prayers now and always, light the dark;
And silence comes, hush now, be still,
The moving pen lays down the quill.