...for the Rev Eric Shirvell-Price
A blizzard of papers blanketed his desk.
His pipe rack stood like a chess piece,
mutely waiting to be shifted.
Sepia-toned photographs lined the mantle shelf
like soldiers standing at attention,
and there was a smell of stale tobacco.
Volumes and manuscripts burst from a bookshelf,
while origami figures lined another.
A coffee mug bore stains of sherry aperitifs
and port to accompany his after dinner cigar.
Crosswords and limericks were everywhere,
vestiges of his light and lively mind.
There were newspaper articles,
and empty fast food containers,
evidence of lonely, late night dietary indiscretions.
His vestments hung limply from a coat hook like wraiths,
belying his portly and prodigious frame.
the frame which now lay in a mahogany box,
a shadow of his former self,
full measure of the man that he once was.
Starved of work his sharpened blade
is dulled by anonymity,
witless, drifting here and there,
he has no true identity,
time has no fidelity,
and space has no consistency,
there are no frames of reference to rely on.
Work is the measure of the man,
his strengths and limitations.
Now, shrunken wallet, shabby shoes
and shrinking reputation,
a shadow of his former self,
a soulless apparition all but spent,
a stranger to the seasons.
Starved of work his sharpened blade
is dulled by anonymity,
feckless, drifting here and there,
he has no true identity,
time has no fidelity,
and space has no consistency,
he has no frames of reference to rely on.
Work is the measure of the man,
his strengths and limitations.
Now, shrunken wallet, shineless shoes
and shrinking reputation,
a shadow of his former self,
a soulless apparition
wholly spent, a stranger to the seasons.
They gather round the hospital bed
United in a communal dread
Brothers, sisters, daughters and sons
Here to see the departing one
For there's no way back,
The doctors relate
And the poor old boy
Will soon meet his fate
A life cut short
By the demon drink
So into the ground
His body will sink
He didn't want it to end like this
A pale shadow of his former self
And faintly reeking of piss
But that's the way
It's sadly to be
At least his soul
Will soon be free
The moons been up all night again
He’s looking rather pale
Been burning the candle at both ends
And now it’s beginning to tell
By the end of the month he will be
A shadow of his former self
It’s only a matter of time
Before people start to click
He’s not just an all night raver
But a total lunatic
He doesn’t seem to care though
Look at him up there
Sipping on the star juice
Totally full of him self
Give him time
His day will come
See if he’s looking on the bright side then.
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