Herman Sequira

Herman Sequira Poems

The old man now nigh eighty years
Reflects upon his past,
His wrinkled eyes reflect his fears
He has not long to last.
...

The cliffs to her were beckoning;
In fear did she approach the edge.
On that sad day of reckoning
She stood, unsteady, on that ledge.
...

Oh, ecstasy! What hast thou done?
Thy pleasure stripped me bare;
My beauty's gone, thou leaveth me
With serpents for my hair.
...

There is a river dark and still,
Behind a house, atop a hill.
There in it's depths my lover lies
And nightly I can hear her cries.
...

I sit beneath the apple tree
Where shady bliss relaxes me
And heavy-eyed, in reverie,
I wait for my true love.
...

This quiet place reveals His grace.
I meditate and pray;
For here I find true peace of mind
By night or light of day.
...

The doomed soul is so lonely that he is anxious even for the company of the ferryman (Charon) who will take him across the river Styx, into Hades. (Greek Mythology) At least he will have the company of other doomed souls.
...

The glory of a newborn day, now lost in mists of smog,
And sunsets hide behind a veil of gray, polluted fog.
The moon is but a muted glow and stars no longer shine.
Celestial lights have disappeared, disguising God's design.
...

The forest path was growing dim
As dusk's descent came much too fast
And I imagined creatures grim,
But they were merely shadows cast.
...

A callow mind would be inclined
To taking reckless leaps;
But safety nets prevent regrets
And lives in broken heaps.
...

A sailor's yarn to me was spun,
When I was but a child;
I thought his story would be fun
I would not be beguiled.
...

In the blink of an eye, I'm in life's afternoon.
Speed onward I pray; O Death come for me soon.
My three score and ten are now thirty years past;
I plead for the end, as the die has been cast.
...

There he stands, with hat in hand,
A pitiful sight to see.
Once blond hair now dirty brown,
And tattered dungaree.
...

I cry for help, but I'm alone
As fearful creatures round me creep
And chilling winds cut to my bone,
I try to waken from my sleep.
...

A visit to my old hometown
Has my emotions mixed.
My mind goes drifting back in time;
I stand with gaze transfixed.
...

The old lady waits and she peers
Through dusty, half closed blinds,
And when a tall young man appears,
Her heart, new joy it finds.
...

The Best Poem Of Herman Sequira

Stranger At The Door

The old man now nigh eighty years
Reflects upon his past,
His wrinkled eyes reflect his fears
He has not long to last.

When on his door a knock he hears
And opens it a-trembling,
He sees a stranger standing there
With face of death resembling.

With shaking voice and quaking heart
The old man begs reprieve.
'Too late, too late, we must depart
I've more to do this eve.'

Again he pleads, tho' all in vain
'This life I must correct.
Too many lives, I've caused much pain,
I cannot go just yet.'

The stranger smiles, and at his whim
The old man's breath is gone.
Another soul belongs to him,
Grim Reaper's job is done.

What will you do when your time's come
And Death knocks on your door?
Within your heart will there be fear,
Or peace forever more?

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