My bones are sore
At close of day
With pain in feet
And hair more grey

And now begins the
Springtime slurry
Winter's death,
The sprouting fury...

But it's the autumn
Of my days
And joints now throb
And mind's a haze

Yet Spring awakens
Yearnings which
Have long lain dormant
How the itch

Distracts a stiff
From daily dribblings
Daydreams, donned
With nubile nibblings

And out into
The wood I jaunt
Till pagan ponderings
Hellishly haunt

The corners of
My craggly crown
The parietal plunder
Pulling down

But satyr romps
Among tree bases
With myriad pictures
Of countless faces

Create a stiffness
'Mid sickened stones
Not of ***** but
Of the bones

At close of day
A man lay hoping
For another day's
Eyes to open

O new day come
It's not too late
Inner wellspring
Satiate!

The head, bowed
The ******* silence
Those fingers clenched
To stave off violence
 
The face obscured
By cloak and hood
The hunger pangs
The lack of food
 
The knowing gaze
That pierces through
To very soul
The target true
 
The sound erupts
With sudden horror
The echoes bounce
Off walls and floor
 
And as you cross
To yonder shore
Wending your way
With scythe as oar

The mist grows thick
The view is strange
Your focus narrows
Your thoughts derange

And now you know,
With ransom pawned,
Your debts erased,
What lies beyond.