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A Moralist In Disguise
July 13, 2020
The More Compassionate Me
June 6, 2020
May 27, 2020
Faith is What is Hoped For!
May 25, 2020
Operation Warp Speed Recovery
May 19, 2020
A Symposium on Bidets
May 11, 2020
May 4, 2020
April 28, 2020
August 10, 2015
Thomas G. Moore
I hear the trilling crescendo of life’s sweet climax
Resounding! Echoing like deep bass drums in my soul
The titillating octaves of youthful exuberance have waned
The hushed quietness of death’s anticipated arrival
Now quieten my mind and caress my being.
Like a sedative balm soothing the achiness of life
What is there new under this relentless sun?
I am amazed that I still rise? Though thankful for my next breath
My zest for a new day is now sullenly tamed
Where is my bellow, where is my roar?
Where is the trumpeting triumph of victory?
Rehearsed schedules and routines calmly done
There seems to be no expedient goals to achieve
I have run my race! I have crossed the finish line
But I hear no accolades, no trumpet’s blare
No more adventures to be dreamed of
I now wax and wane, such a peaceful existence!
I now hear what appears to be heavenly choruses
Faintly calling me from what I can’t apprehend
I am on the cusp of a different kind of victory, an epiphany
Anticipation is of peaceful repose, the tomb, the eternal sigh
The jingling eagerness of life seems quailed
The exhilarating tempo now slowed
Old age has come too soon I fear
Where is the glorious death I pray?
Grappling with a foe, my life wagered
Life reveled intensely in one great gasp
A warrior is not meant to die so old
The glint in my eye is still there
The torch still burns fiercely in my soul
My righteous anger is still present
My arm is still strong to wield the sword
My sight has dimmed I fear to mark the arrow’s flight
No longer the leaping stag or the charging lion
My joints complain and my muscles ache
I gasp, age has rendered me poor of spirit
No longer can I soar with the eagles or dive into the blue depths
Nor climb the jagged tors
Never will I race again or leap like a lithe gazelle
I can still face the storm and shout at the tempest
I can stand in the fury and laugh at the devil
In the drenching rain and howling wind I am defiant
Glorying in God’s stupendous creation
My seed was strong and my lineage ensured
My progeny has taken root and prospered
I have lived and I am content
That which is me will survive the grave
I will return from whence I came and to that which sent me
I might hope that I will return one day as another
My soul ever blooming in eternal spring
Is the soul capable of improvement?
Do we ascend to higher and still higher planes?
What might my next incarnation be?
I am Life, I have existed, I am eternal, I encompass all of time!