Whose words flow now, from these fingers?
Surely not my own, the world now somehow smaller,
Age reminds me, this time is mine alone.
Spark memories now, from whose mind did this flow?
Mist of times past, lives lived, now sleep, uneasy dreams,
As long forgotten, some things never meant to last.
Speak to me, as ghosts in a dream, a whisper in a quiet moment,
Voice of an old man, mislead me no longer,
Release me to sleep, as the hour outlives the plan.
Glory past, as spent coppers to flowers,
Release me from bonds, promises made in hast,
Life’s lie, so clear, stones cast, ripples upon a pond.
Copyright © Stephen Allen