The Circumspect Soul

His years like a nova exploded in

Micro seconds across the screen of his mind.

With his days of darkness and evil being many

He seldom if ever could he recall being kind.

Having heart and a conscience to him was never even a thought

For he knew from early on, that by the lusty shades of night

His direction and purpose in life had been by evil bought.

Yet now, as he lay almost rigid on this bed of approaching death,

He began to feel bits of remorse for his deeds in this foul life’s quest.

He watched with a cautious eye now all dazed and confused.

And he whimpered quietly as the evening sun

Lost its battle to the night and slipped like a ghost from sight.

Soon, soft shadows began to form

from the cast of a street light into his room,

And a myriad of shapes twisted and twined,

dancing quickly to some silent tune.

Echoes of sordid, drunken laughter came boldly from the outside hall,

Breaking now asunder the morose and vile stillness of this his final day.

Soon, and all too quickly, the laughter began to grow fainter

And then as quickly as it had come, it softly fell away.

His eyes grew heavy now, and his breathing became shallow.

And his previous remorse was now replaced

with the bitterness of a life wasted.

He longed no more for the coming of another tomorrow,

And he welcomed the dark figures that had begun to crowd his room.

He turned his eyes toward the single window

and the now darkened night,

He watched forlorn as voluminous black clouds

culled the moon from sight.

He could feel the cold icy touch of the many dark specters

He fettered not one jot as they lay their hands

Circumspect upon his slowly escaping soul.

“Last chance to make it right so spake his conscious,

Last chance to call… before the ever night”

Yet he did not call, nor did he even try.

His chest now heaved hard under the weight of ensuing death

His eyes turned inward as they lost sight of their earthly quest.

He awoke now unto his journey’s final end

He screamed at last for his last chance to make right his amends.

Yet his screams fell silent and empty upon many a deaf ear,

For they were millions, and millions of sighing souls

Who like he, now lived forever in the darkness

Of their own perpetual fear.

J. Allen Wilson © 2005