People start to die
on the day
when they have to
accept that it's time
to turn and
go back.
Until that day,
when they were
always pushing onwards,
they were immortal.
Now, death
has a hold on them,
a claw on the shoulder
tightening its grip.
As they turn back,
they know
they are starting the path
to that day
which to them
shall lack
a sunrise or a sunset.
Sometimes
they last until
Babylon,
sometimes,
like with the aged Seleucus
(still a young general
on this fateful day
when the great
adventure ends),
death catches
up with them
on the borders
of Macedon.
11.11.2021
#Poem #Poems #Poetry
Ei kommentteja:
Lähetä kommentti