I die a death that all panthers die
an inordinate connection to a grave
a slave of the soil in summer’s wind
when the rave of spring is sprung
to rescind lost tears in winter’s beak
to speak of a body long gone cold
when the bones rave old and brittle
then with little time left to grieve
bereft and stilled in autumn's hold

The tongue has withered in silence
muted now are my songs once sung
for the cells of memory fade to black
and the last mourner will not be back
It is now too late to chant that spell
that resurrects an image by a dream
the recollection of sequence will tell

Long out of range and left in the rain
the pain of living seems now strange
out of order in the looking glass
out of focus is the relic of the past
when yester youth would draw a breath
taken for granted to the hour of death
and I, from life, have subtracted fate
a diminished rest I have found too late

© 2004 Amor Sabor