Death watches us all.
At our birth, death lies beyond sight
and is merely informed of our existence.
But as time progresses, death plods forth
from beyond the horizon to the fog’s end.
At that point, death watches,
looming in the distance,
standing, dark as night.
For the unfortunates death comes early.
For the over-extenders death waits patiently.
But for all, death comes.
We near death; death nears us,
counting down our every breath
until the last.

The whitest snowflakes gracefully glide
They settle on trees and towers of mine
The dark of the cave I'd gladly abide
A warm shelter from the frost outside
Night settles, I run to a tower of mine
Through thin glass I watch my first sunset
Over a grand forest of spruce and pine
Transfixed, I learn this I cannot forget.
And yes. My tracks had farewell longtime
I've journeyed far lands throughout my prime
But as I dwell upon this memory
The home I'd know only until then
My eyes pour upon the discovery:
I remember. I feel the frost again.

My pages speak nothing of love
For me it is sinful to glorify thereof
My journals are true to emotion
Love is absent and forbidden

The only traces are unrequited;
The remorseless: skillfully blighted

But he has cleared all heretofore:
He has rebuilt the love I'd bore
And come to me after a marathon
Jovial to have crowned me paragon

Now my pages can dance and wheel
And no longer share my solitary ordeal

Crops crave for water at a hill
Thirst visible on their stalks
The sky gushes a coal black
But no. It is not rain.
Nothing to quench a crop’s thirst.
Only the manifestation of darkness
roaming the skies
And yes. Walking on a road, intimidated,
Before me, in the distance:
Nothing but dead man’s hill
But now a smirking old woman:
Silently still.

How marveling it is—beyond the bustling town hub,
deep in the forests, reserved on the bravest hills
The cadence of the bird's alluring symphony
echoes from stone, overflowed with daffodils

I venture through time effortlessly, walking
The gentle breeze erases my sorrows and fears
Sometimes the stone pyramids are haunting,
Yet magnificent to see where humans once were

As I gaze opposing monoliths from a king's throne,
I wonder of his essence and his diligent rule,
I wonder of the people he led who’d home,
in this place seemingly claimed by nature

Luckily the residue still thrives: red on cobble;
The waters and the plants breathe in serenity;
The beds, once covered in western blankets, now rubble;
They all whisper stories and poems into my ear

Between the stone the moss had lay
Cries of help left there to stay
Love and joy lost in the gray
A sight of the land so haunting

The boats on shore were but a few
Huts were scattered across the view
From erosion, the sands withdrew
Not one but I had stood the ground

At this very place where I had grown
Years ago, I had willingly shown
That I too could have walked alone
To reach a place of anew

But on my journey from the sea
I heard my people’s harrowing plea
From miles away—how could it be?
Had the winds taken them away?

Now that I have come return
Time has passed and I have learned
That each life will have their turn
To be at sky's mercy

I beg to bare that feeling
of knowing how
it feels to belong,
the feeling it is
where what I do
is little considered wrong,
and the feeling of
being able to
reciprocate their muse
indefinitely.

Nonetheless, I have found
within myself a strong bond
free from those who
claim I am wronged
excelling profoundly
in the craft I have
mastered and perfected
devoid of the ridicule
of those whom have wanted