Visitor at the Door

Life, beginning, middle and end.

 

My companion, why do you stand

Outside in the cold, hesitating?

I open the door and bid you enter.

You are no stranger in a strange land.

Are you not a friend come visiting

Long overdue, as is the end of winter?

 

Come in; be warmed by the low fire,

Let us talk of the beginning years.

At our first meeting, you had no name,

And, child that I was I did not inquire

Why those around me had much fear,

Placing upon you such bitter blame.

 

The smug arrogance of my youth

Made your existence inconceivable.

Life’s expectancy I never considered.

I was intoxicated with being invincible.

How patiently you must have waited

Knowing my brow, you would soothe.

 

Middle age arrived much too soon,

With mortality came glimpses of you,

Spectral snapshots in my mind’s closet.

Clay feet now danced to a different tune

Leading me down a worrisome avenue

Where you waited, Life’s great despot.

 

Now, the flicker of the fire’s flame

Is gone, only the glow of embers

As we sit here together, side by side.

Let us enjoy the solitude that remains

Then my Friend, I will go to slumber

Sweet Death, hand in hand we abide.

Author's Note

Review as you will. Suggestions are most welcome. Thank You

Reviews

[Lestat's daughter]

I like it a lot, very creative.

[Andromeda]

i love this! you have a very unique style; it reminds me of classic poetry: really deep and picturesque. i also love how you referred to the reader; kind of made it seem like a conversation.

[JLMatthews]

This is beautiful. The style is very unique, and the flow is fantastic. It's an excellent piece.

[Butch Decatoria]

Old School classic way you've written this, the sound and flow of it--like a whitman piece. Bitter-sweet ending, and almost morbid, as if one or the other could not die without that friend joining in that death. I do not know if you meant it to sound dark, it began sweet enough, pining for something unattainable--then something happens where you became equals--and regained a new-found connection. The last two stanzas threw me off, who is "Life's Despot?" you or the muse? The solitude you mention in the last stanza brought on that dark feel to it--awesome tho'... cryptic poetry rocks, even if it is about love. Great piece.

~PFluffer~

[Astrid Hamilton]

A great and well-delivered poem full of simultaneous wisdom and foolishness; that is what makes it so great;
like tears that perpetually linger for that; the hesitate.
And no resolution, and it's gone, and no one had a chance to even blink their eyes.
This is fascinating.