Whose words flow now from these fingers?
Surely not my own; the world now somehow smaller
Age reminds me, this time is mine alone.
Spark memories now, from whose mind did this flow?
Mist of times past, lives lived, now sleep, uneasy dreams
As long forgotten, some things never meant to last.
Speak to me as ghosts in a dream, a whisper in a quiet moment
Voice of an old man, mislead me no longer
Release me to sleep as the hour outlives the plan.
Glory past, as spent coppers to flowers
Release me from bonds and promises made in hast
Life’s lie, so clear, stones cast, ripples upon a pond
Stoic Poetry
Through The Cracked Window (Revisited) 