Paled by milk white moonlight, filtering thru worn aged air.|
Stands now a shadowed figure, cold and without care.
The plans the hopes the dreams, have seeped as water into sand.
Like a rudderless ship, no charted course, the helm of life unmanned.
Aimlessly wander through opaque days, there is no goal in sight.
Earth is circling, so to moves he makes, there are no lefts or rights.
The spiral of the pin wheel, is to the observer, a consuming illusion.
Spinning down no center is found, another trip without conclusion.
There is a ending, that could be written, as we watch the setting sun.
Each word to paper, as masons' brick to wall, light is gone and done.
Fleeting twilight, on whispered wind, in welcome dark I rest.
I'll write not now an epitaph, the yet unknown will be my guest.
© 2018 panther811
(All rights reserved)