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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1688732-The-Last-Vistor
by ShawnK
Rated: E · Poetry · Death · #1688732
Death visits a man mourning his lost love.
                         The Last Visitor


A cold winter’s night and I sit by the fire,
Watching the clock hands, my eyes start to tire.
Earlier blue flames were licking much higher.

The glass on my table is empty and dry.                              
To keep heavy lids up I no longer try.                              
The dancing of flame is seen inside my eye.                    

I know I can’t do this much longer.                              



In cavernous room I can hear not a sound,                    
But perched in my chair I can always be found.                    
My limbs to the armchair you’d think had been bound.          

The mat at my door is frayed scarcely from use,                    
But legs on my chair are worn heavy and loose.                    
A scarf on my neck is wrapped tight like a noose.          

I know I can’t wait here much longer.                              


My servant checks in and I send her away.                    
I’ve struggled once more to the end of a day,                    
My head full of thoughts but with nothing to say.          

Disrupting my trance is a rap at the door.                    
I rise from my chair and move over the floor.                    
Who travels so boldly across foggy moor?                    

I won’t be alone for much longer.                              


A crack in the door sends mist o’re my feet.                              
A guest at this time I’m unready to meet.                    
A stranger, my doormat unwilling to greet.                    

The visage is gruesome and bends back the light.                    
An instinct to shun him do I have to fight.                              
His cloak rides the wind while his whip tames the night.          

I’ll study this specter no longer.                                        


He offers his name but my ear will not hear,                    
A name every man is born knowing to fear.                              
He holds out his hand, but my hand won’t go near.                    

He grazes my shoulder when passing the door,                    
While giving my heartbeat a reason to soar.                    
The wind at his back gives him up with a roar.                    

I pray he won’t stay here much longer.                              


A sweep of his palm puts the last flicker out.                    
Resolve to resist him I’m starting to doubt.                    
His purpose of visit he won’t talk about.                              

He pockets his gloves as he wraps up his whip,          
His tongue licks the road dirt from off of his lip.                    
From freshly filled goblet he won’t take a sip.                    

I’ll suffer this stranger no longer.                                        


His blackness of garment brings night to the room.          
He surveys my dwelling by light of the moon.                    
The walls of my chamber close in like a tomb.          

I step to the door, but he’s already there.                              
Such closeness to evil gives rise to my hair.                    
He withers my strength with his ungodly stare.                    

I wish this would last not much longer.                                        


He looks ‘round the room and then offers my chair.          
To ignore his grand gesture, I truly not dare,                    
For begging and pleading he hasn’t a care.                    

I sit in the chair I’ve spent ten years of night.                    
He closes the shutters and puts out the light.                    
His plans for my evening I no longer fight.                    

I know my heart beats not much longer.                                        


Unable to suffer his pitiless leer,
I squeeze shut my eyes and the room disappears.                    
Warmth engulfs my soul and dispels all my fears.                    

Across from me now is my beloved wife.                    
Whose passing had pierced through my heart like a knife.
Without whom I’d given up living a life.                    

I won’t be alone any longer.                                        
   
© Copyright 2010 ShawnK (shawnkeenan74 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1688732-The-Last-Vistor