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Poem

Far from the prodding eyes
         
He toiled,
with the wits and strength of men, 
like thousand armies, 
He bore the world with words
Till mortal frame fell,
dying to all the world calls good,
with the flickering embers of his own dreams,
He bowed in suspense and silence, 

Beaten,
Battered,
And broken by death
      
he veiled his scar,
bleeding,
and the  sparkles of life lose their shine in the eyes
save the heat of stale tears,
keep the bayonet in the scabbard,
The wars are over, 
Death, it had its power in suspense 
from the hung cross, he died to all,
and this,  It kills but once,   
The struggle is done, 
Mourners on the street. 
A star is removed from vain toil, 

Beaten,
Battered,
And broken.

pain now paean,
the vanity toil is over, 
aches now veiled, 

Time, passing time. 
pilgrims walks thy earth, 
unknown, unsought, unsung,
Yet Happily they go. 
earth's slavery over. 
Pour your jars of unshed tears
into our empty dregs 
Mortality transformed, 

into another realm 
break these iron walls of silence
Speak to voiceless frame now in glory
they look down but not back, 
 
all the silent wishes are over
Cherished dreams suspended!
Speak,  
Life is wilting 
Speak to time,
ere the Morning comes, 
where men says'
Adieu.

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