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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required With the onset of advancing age, so I find, A man grows weary of all mundane talk; Occupies his every spare, idle thought With that of the slow, reflective kind. Regretful of many a squandered hour, Turning his back on the squabbling nations, Their woeful, self-serving deliberations, Dreams wistfully of his own starlit tower. Should he hopefully find that blessed stair, Wound insides of the ancient, dim lit wall, Where tread from unseen feet sometimes fall, He could but elevate himself above his cares; There, throwing his soul upon the night, Lift his gaze upon a tumultuous crowding! His thinning pate adorned with a crowning From a far-flung, pale, distant light. And if he was to fix his mind upon that point; To that moment forcefully bring to bear, With every ounce of fibre when stood there, An unremitting will to somehow exploit, That, which, the mystics so jealously guarded... Then, perhaps, he might too ascend? For, in all reality, at the very end, All is thrown off...the very body discarded. Therefore I will choose my own finality. I give my remaining days to old worn steps Enclosed in rock, a turret that silhouettes Against an endless sky; and if it should be That I find such hallowed battlements Give aging legs the strength to slowly climb, To praise the celestial and sublime, When reaching up where my God frequents. For though those stars seem out of reach, Unattainable by grand, omnipotent design, Nevertheless I am thusly to be inclined To offer up a prayer and unto him beseech:- "Immortal father who created mortal man, Ye who sits above all earthly thrones, Give unto me old tools and rubbled stones, And I shall endeavour to do what I can... To rebuild that abandoned, crumbled tower... For, Lord, be it only by dreams men are Truly empowered"!
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