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Poem

In the twilight of his years, he stood,
A figure sculpted in the sands of time,
A shadow cast by the dying sun,
Caught in the turmoil of destiny's rhyme.
He reached that moment, inevitable, profound,
When the deep currents of the soul pull,
A whisper, a call, a shadowed sound,
Where the true compass of the heart is full.
In the labyrinth of his mind, he wandered,
A stream of consciousness, unbound, free,
Thoughts like autumn leaves, scattered, pondered,
Each one a fragment of his identity.
He felt the weight of a thousand moons,
Each phase a chapter, an untold story,
Where demons danced to haunted tunes,
And genius shone like threads of glory.
The demon's call was a siren's song,
A melody of shadows, dark and deep,
Promising power, where right felt wrong,
A precipice, a cavern, a treacherous leap.
And yet, the genius within, a quiet flame,
Flickered with dreams of what could be,
A light that whispered his true name,
A vision of self, untamed and free.
He stood at the crossroads, heart in hand,
A divided soul, torn between,
The known, the dark, the promised land,
And the unknown, bright and serene.
With eyes closed, he breathed the night,
Felt the pulse of the earth, the stars' embrace,
A moment of clarity, pure and bright,
Where he found his truest grace.
He chose the path where shadows fade,
Where dreams are forged in the fires of hope,
Where each step is a promise made,
And with his soul, he learned to cope.
In the end, we all must face,
That moment, clear yet undefined,
Where we abandon ourselves to the grace,
Of the demon, or the genius, within our mind.

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