January 27, 2009

Waiting for The Man

Bury me with coffers
So that I may pay the man
Who waits upon the river
With a sickle in his hand

He stands before me silent
For there are no words to say
We both know the destination
But he’s the only one who knows the way

I know no matter what I do
He shall not change his course
And that this shall be my final journey
Yet I refuse to feel remorse

For anything I may have done
Against country, kith or kin
For I know within my heart
That I would do it all again

Indeed I am a scoundrel
Of this there is no doubt
And perhaps it’s true a conscience
Was something I was born without

But I was slave to no one
I lived as I saw fit
My life was the adventure
That I chose to make of it

Now all too soon the journey’s over
As the ferry reaches the shore
And I know I shall be paying penance

For now and evermore

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

sorry I haven't been back in awhile. Just wanted to say that I really love your poems. please post some more. Don't stop writting!