Decades Poem by DM W

O life's strange procession moves on,
The summer is almost over.
The air's heavy with nostalgia:
With the scent of fading roses.
I recall the tainted glories
Of beloved ones now gone.
O praised be the peace that passes
Ordinary understanding.
Its a design of rare gold
Etched in the silvery night.
The pale mystery of moonlight:
Its sense of serene seclusion;
Seems to remove the trails of doom.
The ethereal beauty, of
Mozart's piano concertos,
Seems to fill this room's emptiness.

I cry like a child although I'm old now.
I remember being young and carefree.
I can still hear vague traces of laughter
Of lovers & friends & acquaintances
That float freely on the freshening breeze.
I stand by the gate at the garden's end.
Six decades have passed in no time at all.
I see the children of morning's new face;
Casually plucking flowers as they play.
I think of all the time that's passed me by.
Each inevitable turn of season.
Between the primal, warm, green spark of birth
And the mid summer of my tender youth;
Between the pathways walked a thousand times
In search of shining Truth and the time
Spent alone as starry eyed creator.
Between sketchy notion & the honed craft
Of conception lies a lifetime's labour.

O I've so much work still left to complete;
Many heavy burdens still to carry.
O I'm haunted by unearthly figures.
They're half in soft light; half in shade;
Always desperately calling out my name.
Each evening I watch the leaves as they fall:
Red, gold and brown on Autumn's solemn ground.
I try to cry out in the cold October dawn.
For I'm still moved by strong passions that burn
Like slow, consuming fires deep down inside
The time has come to retreat from this world
Of fleeting shadows and embrace silence.
I'll merely observe the birds as they nest,
And watch the clouds as they drift by and die.