He sits upon the ocean bluff
staring out to sea.
This old poet of many years
lost in memory.

He remembers well, when as a lad,
his sight was sharp and clear,
but now his eyes are dull and sad
and wet with salty tears.

His body once a sculptures dream
is now bent low and frail,
he struggles with each breath he takes,
his skin is dry and pale.

Time has stolen all his dreams
and robbed him of his power.
Crushed and sifted all he was
now death will soon devour.

If only time were not the thief
its shown its self to be.
There are stanzas yet to write
metaphors still to bleed.

He watches now as ships sail past
and children play and swim,
lovers walk and stop to kiss
seagulls chant their hymn.

"So much to see, much to be written,"
he whispers as shelved verses & the
life he postponed screams "It's too late"
death is the one thing that will not wait.










~*Sas
"Seduce my mind and you can have my body, Seduce my soul and I'll be yours forevermore" ~Me