291. 3/10/15 (#285)
In Vain Memorial
Was he afraid to acknowledge end?
Or did he greet Death as a friend?
Did he accept?
Or refuse protest?
Did he step softly in silent submission?
And slip slowly away by own decision?
Or perhaps he struggled and fought his fate?
In disbelief? But all too late.
Did terminal claws grope his skin?
Hold firm and drag him kicking in?
Was his killer known?
Did he die alone?
Were his last words self-pitiful lies?
Or pleading for mercy in desperate cries?
And was it wrong for him to die?
Then, still with youthful eyes?
Or did his cruel mistress Destiny decide,
That old age would not worry his mind?
That all he'd need were brief, fleeting glances,
To longingly watch Eternity's dances?
Did God decree?
That all he'd see,
Would be untouchable by his hand?
Was every drop of fresh pain planned?
When his body froze with sharpened chill,
Did corrupted shouts of anger still,
Provide his soul with empty reason,
To rebel against is heart with treason?
And was that why?
At his last sigh,
He finally lost his mind?
Or made himself blind,
To his past?
Yet despite it all,
He still recalls,
Himself in vain memorial.