Some Little Thoughts

When death shall take the weary frame,
Of poet, of soldier, of statesman, of serf,
Upon awakening, some years hence,
What sights shall meet, now blurred and foreign eyes?
For this world’s lustre’s sure not the same
As when they went to that other place,
Where concerns of man are devoid of self
And love is avarice, replaced. 

If knights of old woke up, today,
To breathe, to taste, to view, to smell
Wouldst marvel at the changes came about?
Or, would they cringe at what they saw,
To realise their going’s Act One, the Valour’s Play?
Their once-held, noble creed, their radiant grace,
Had been, with bodies, buried deep,
And oath’s nobility, now tyranny, replaced. 

When death takes valued leaders bold,
To sleep, to rest, to pass unto that other place,
They leave behind their legacy in stone,
On which their hopes, engraved, and deep,
In dreams that generations to unfold
Would build their castles, proud, never efface
Man’s ascension to that higher rank,
From animal, carnivorous: To eternal lover, replaced. 

The artist, brush by brush, paints life, view by view:
Of nest building, of courting, a flower’s coat of midnight dew;
He depicts scenes as viewed through him;
At times, he glimpses life’s collage, fearful, apprehensive,
But, always, his brush will seek what’s true;
Though, sometimes, his hand, the horrid part’s traced,
Still he paints his scenes, compelled and frenzied,
For the bane of life would be if truth were falsity, replaced. 

The brave all bathed by summer’s sun,
Like flora, fauna, ant and bird,
Breathes in pure air – Verdure, effervescent!
Life-giving air which, like the warming globe,
Is freely offered to every, living one.
On waking to progenitor’s embrace,
And seeing how lowly many a life had sunk,
Might he not say: It’s best, no more, but, eternal sleep, replaced.