With a wayward gait he did creep,
In a place where a lad aught not speak;
Underfoot was the silent splintering of bones,
And a ways away the splendour of the steeple’s peak.
The weeping old oak,
She be the one to dictate his stride,
A truth both of the old & the new did she hold,
Thus he approached, strong of stance yet weak in pride.
A most joyless atonement he did find,
And with it to the earth his ear had bent,
For the moment forfeiting the malicious monotony of life,
For a moss-covered grave with naught he wept.
Six words, six was all it took,
‘Eram quod es, eris quod sum’,
Bitter with cheek, sharp of tongue,
So happened to be his final salute from an old chum.
Taken naught by a beast of hoof or claw,
But one whose lifeblood ran black,
And ventured only woods of pitch and tar;
With only whiskey’s song to sooth his mind into a state of lack.
Yet this nay be the tale of inadvertent calamities,
Nor tis one of the madman’s ways,
For long had he toyed with death’s embrace,
And thus there had subsisted intent behind the drunken haze.
The Gods had punished him for his most unrighteous vice,
As the law of the land had warned him so,
Thus his still inchoate being was swept away,
But how were they to know?
...
And as to the earth his ear had bent,
So did his mind sway on the nightingale’s wings,
The Lady Oak held him in a ghostly embrace,
And she did saith soft things…
In his reverie he turn to see a friend now grey,
Youth’s immortality purloined; be it his choice made,
From his lips naught was said,
An old trickster’s tongue had begun to fade.
It seemed the wayward would be first to voice,
“Why, oh why?” he did say, oh so meek.
And the friend now grey solemnly did say,
“That is not the question of me you seek”.
On these words the wayward did ponder,
But the impatience of youth of this did sunder,
And of the friend turned grey he did beseech,
“What knowledge of my desire have you, I wonder?”
With this he did harshly grin,
“It is not desire of which I speak”;
“For in your naivety it's being prevails”,
“Heed what I say, your mind does grow weak”.
This being spoke of things unknown,
And listening hard the wayward felt too young,
But e'er the wise lad he did take heed,
The friend turned grey spoke in older tongues...
“Know this” saith he,
“None are dying until they know death”
“In his acquaintance you lose what you ne'er knew you had”
“And none shall e'er know 'till their endmost breath”.
On these words the wayward did ponder,
But the impatience of youth of this did sunder,
And of the friend turned grey he did beseech,
“Do you advise I become familiar with death, I wonder?”
“That is not of what I speak!” the friend turned grey did shriek,
“But when it is thy who he seeks”,
“Enter his embrace free of ruefulness”,
“And be joyful even when still of heart and blue of cheek”.
“Now that you've laid in the black and wept”,
“Over me no longer grieve”,
“And if you so do choose to heed a friend turned grey”,
“With these parting words a wiser lad you shall leave”.
“Know sorrow and know loss for in them you know love”,
“Ignore selfish desires as these are only falsities of fun”,
“Love is the right of all men”,
“Deny it and you shall be full of fire at the man you'll become”.
“God is of a thousand faces; no man can know him”,
“Rejoice in your faith, yet never let in make you blind”,
“Let you not be ignorant of others”,
“An open hearth is nobler than the sharpest mind”.
“Know the world; but do not plunder it”,
“Be gracefully in the shadow of something so grand”,
“Let you not seek supremacy above all else”,
“And as a testament to this you shall forever stand”.
The darkness that marooned a wayward soul no longer was,
And no longer did his mind sway on the nightingale’s wings,
A mere moment he was near the grave of a friend turned grey,
But he did saith soft things…
