The Whisper-Gentle Eyes of Death

The whisper-gentle eyes of death,
Observing from the starlight,
Gazing down, in careful watch,
Through clouds awash with moonlight,

A soul’s meandering through time;
A gambler and a drinker,
But, my dear, of stalwart cheer—
A perspicacious thinker,

A ready hand in greeting raised,
A funny jibe and pointed quip,
A personality of gold,
In deathly, geriatric grip,

The pallid face, the feeble limbs,
With energy but feather weak,
Long and isolated hours,
In silent desolation bleak,

What am I now? A child again?
A simple gadget formed of flesh?
A woeful mummy, cotton bound?
Never to begin afresh?

A journey birthed from World War Two,
My gifted walk neath skies of blue,
And now, I sink into the pale,
Remembering the health I knew…

The merry faces — family,
The friends, gregarious and bright!
And now I linger on the cusp,
Of softly calling, endless night,

A journey rounded out in peace,
An effervescent stream of years,
Resolving in intrepid death—
The final answer to my fears,

The whisper-gentle eyes of death,
Espy my soul in body clothed,
From dust to dust — my race is run,
To silken death I am betrothed…

AD Lovkis, 29/07/25