My Final Hour

With age,
My sword 
Is deeply scarred
But its edge
Honed twice as sharp

With age,
My words 
Are penned in blood
All flowing
From the heart

With age,
I embrace what 
Truth reveals
And am humbled
By its power

With age,
My light burns 
Free at last
To illume
 —my final hour

(Villanova Pennsylvania: July, 2016)
Copyright © | Year Posted 2019

Poem

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