Some day
soon enough
what I've written
would be blown away
by the cold winds of time
every word
every rhyme-
such thought
has left me not

until then
with my shaking hand
I'll still hold my pen
to jot
down
what my life is all about

dark and sombre
is the night
my candle-light
wanes
dim is my sight
deep are my pains
that cling to me
the past convulses
the present is mockery
the future but mist
that foreshadows
the most friendly star
if I do hold on to hopes
they would be away too far

the hour is approaching
its footsteps are
at my door ajar
the moment cannot wait
all that's within me
it will tear asunder
and my every dream
it will heartlessly mar--

silence
but fear I've none
my heart-beat
is growing weaker
my breath is slower
the last note
of the symphony
I love so dearly
seems less familiar

a sinking feeling
is weighing upon me
I can't look back

and from nowhere
comes a strange voice:
'the words you've created
will not leave you-
to you they belong
your life has been given to
nurturing and shaping them
and they have no reason
to blame you for any wrong'.