The Visitor Poem by Kevin Patrick

French panes stir with rays of morning's ebullience.
Then light awoke and tiptoed over slender glass
Nibbling its lenses with gold flakes & honey rime
til Blue jays chorused. The prologue of a fretful day

In your study, you slept, at home amongst relics
Leather bound gemstones bricked in every inch of wall
Filling the rim of knowledge in this Mahogany skull.
Wrinkled filled artifacts, an old globe to match your bones

Still seven scores so, you were still a boy, and more
A Patient passenger on times platform waiting for this moment
You busied yourself for decades, tidied up to your profession
Never forgetting as children mark charismas day as their rapture

That night, tempests swayed. You made amends to friends.
Said goodbye by disguise, and spent time with a stranger
Weaving down your life into an hour's story. She left
Rebirthed, as you found a last friend before the light

And when dawn scraped the funeral clouds your visitor came.
He sat there, watching light comb away your shadow,
Revealing every crack and grey hair in his loving son.
The lad shuffled, joy choked in him a second heart.
His father had returned

They stuffed the morning talking. Taken second
and third courses on the details of his triumphs.
Timeworn words passed, between the ghosts and sage.
Each worshiped the other in the passing of silence

Soon the father inspected his son's mementos
The old man had one trick up his sleeve.
He was dying. And the ghosts sat desperate
Begging, the old man whispered his immortality

If you could hold a lost love and breathe it in again
To sip the precious seconds that will disappear in smoke
You would fight fate, delay destines supremacy
Just so you can rewrite the past do it all again.

And the visitor exited the future. With a fresh start