Death

“Death”

Autumn afternoon light grows dim,

A brief, cool breeze wafts briskly through

Gathering kinfolk close, watch him.

Dusky sunset chill smells of dew.

Grandfather’s furrowed face, eyes wet,

Shrewd senses, he knows: Death comes near.

Stern gestures shown, but our course set,

This our chieftain, our king most dear.

Proud face, bold, strong, and deeply pained.

His mask noble; there’s no terror.

On robes of bison lays his bed.

In this life, we are his mirror.

A fullness he sees, an old man.

Mind sharp, ready for rebirth.

Reaching for our love, with his hand,

Spirits rise… his grasp falls to earth.

To the next life go all his years;

Sunset, life and day, here ended.

In the twilight gloom, shed our tears.

Vessel that was his, is now dead.

Magic hour, Death shows himself.

Our gazes lock, it makes me ill.

I am reminded: time is wealth,

Lost in the moment, all is still.

The sight of Death, gentle face, pale,

Cloaked and quiet, flowing robes black.

Sound now, not him, but our sad wail,

Why does he wait? What does he lack?

Waiting to guide grandfather’s soul,

To walk him kindly from this life.

A need: balanced, well maintained goals…

Beauty! Death's renewal, not strife.

Death stares with compassionate eyes,

Beckons to our king, speaks softly.

Our grandfather makes soft goodbyes,

“Farewell,” silent words… then away.

-- J.R.H.