When The Final Bell Tolls - Poem by Suzette Richards
Where once the vainglorious hunter held sway,
is now frequented by the frail of mind and body.
I resolve to repent and hold temptations at bay,
but anew succumb to Bacchus' nightly toddy.
I might as well feast at cornucopias immeasurable.
Don't concern myself ‘bout the woes of tomorrow
and give over to love of all things pleasurable.
For when the final bell tolls, it heralds much sorrow.
Fresh to this world, we learn as a child all things new.
As an adult, we pass on these life lessons learned.
Chasing windmills of your mind, you should askew,
as death sneaks up and gives us the rest earned.
In truth, by choice, I would neither have been born;
nor tarry on this mortal coil a minute longer.
Never can we twice step into the same stream lorn:
Steeped in wisdom imparted by those stronger.
With promises, we cannot survive the daily struggle.
Best to grasp current opportunities with both hands.
God has ordained our destiny - let us time juggle
our allotted secular presence, relinquishing our bands.
Life moves on, without any influence from us
and to live in the Now, is the only recourse.
Love and Joy are our birthright - no need to cuss
or writhe in guilt and reproach others in discourse.
When the winds of change blow into your life,
go with the flow; do not kick against the thorn.
This place we call ‘World', is but an illusion of strife
and we rule until the final day, when we are shorn.
Inevitably, when the final curtain call is made,
the secrets that we now argue over and debate,
will be made clear and astound us; bring a tirade.
Settle now to live a life of renown and be first rate.
Pious or not, of the same cup of Life we have supped -
some have lingered longer, void of any concern.
An innate desire for infinity, despite how life rubbed -
eyeing the Finishing Line is only true for the kern.
Poet's Notes about The Poem
Lorn: adj. Desolate, forlorn
Kern/kerne: (historically) Light-armed Irish foot-soldier; peasant; boor.
Inspired by the RUBAIYAT, of Omar Khayyám
BASED ON THE FIRST 18 STANZAS out of the between 200 - 600 stanzas attributed to Omar Khayyám, depending on the source.]
Comments about When The Final Bell Tolls by Suzette Richards
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
A Dream Within A Dream
Edgar Allan Poe