As an old man reflecting on his very long past does he only reflect the good,
My friends I stand guilty, my reflections are of only good in my shoal of time,
Dare I peer into mists a dim mysterious future where it will be short, not long,
Seeing my future in its ghastly perspective, arrows of death drift across my path.
I see the future where I walk, my path and can see graves opening all around me,
My fellow travelers, one by one gliding down into a grave, fear owns this road,
There are deathbeds, weeping friends stand around the wretched suffering forms,
The young and the old the high and the low marching to a common goal, eternity.
While I can see all this and stand in dreadful doubt which deathbed will be mine,
One of these arrows is winging its way towards me and I have no amour none at all,
Is it the darkness of the past that make us afraid on our future and our shadows,
Having disappointed all the expectations from those who trusted me, trust wasted.
Copyright © Terry Trainor