Finis Coronat Opus

Dark roads stretch on, past vision’s sight, Through lands o’ershadowed, robed in night; No end of marching, wand’ring on This dreary path whence light has gone. Hope somewhere rests ‘neath glitt’ring sun, Where birds there nest and life’s begun To spring forth green from hardened ground; Oh! when may vision such be found? For tread I on this lifeless way, Where love is absent, joy’s away And pain and heartache’s cruelest grasp Steal ev’ry breath, yea, to the last.

As daylight fades in autumn skies And birds wing home ‘mid clouds on high, My sight is drawn to such a scene As mortal eye has often seen Yet glanc-ed o’er the setting fair And heeding only worldly care. Yon’ setting sun has cast his beam (So golden bright its colors seem) Against a stand of verdure tall That sends its shade to cover all; For tall indeed are oak and pine And beechwood, fir, and maple fine. The sunlight sets their leaves aflame, Like glist’ning fur on lion’s mane, Or armies bearing torch of gold, Their steady tread to thus embold: So lights the sun the forests dark And streams forth rays where timber parts. Tho’ shade enfolds the forest glade In gloom so drear of shadow made  (Yet mortal eye doth see it not, Unless it be with grandeur fraught); Yet beauty hid in darkness dim Is set ablaze at daylight’s end. Originally penned September 26th, 2018.

Once, I read a letter penned In dead of night, ‘mid howling wind, And tempest raging so in heart Of him who words on parchment marked. Such sorrow, pain, and gloom - alas! Did spring from paper, like a glass To cast again an image dim Upon my mind; ’twas truly him. His words were pained and aching so For light to break the dreary glow Of hollow hopes and shattered dreams; He sought the golden, sunlit gleam. This man did yearn for hope restored, For love’s requite and future’s morn, And in their absence, down his thoughts Plunged deep to darkened sea, distraught. My heart does break for such a man, Whose heart was true, and strong his hand; But shadows creeping stole his peace, And surest man is now the least.

Sleep evades my eyelids weary As the fading twilight dreary Darkens swift at close of day, Hastening on the shadows’ reign. Here I lie, awaiting slumber That will not my mind drift over With his cloak of sweetest sleep, My body, restless, there to keep. Sleepless, dreamless, wakeful evening Passes slow to morning’s gleaming, When at last I must arise And greet the dawn with bleary eyes.