New Dark Poem – The Forever Man

The Forever Man

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I knew a man without a name.

He walked the streets of everywhere.

At dawn, at twilight, and later

his soles unpolished pattered on roads,

in alleys,

under eaves rotten with neglect,

beyond gates silver and gold.

He knew my name

but his, I only guessed.

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The people in whose shadow

he trailed

looked upon him in dismay,

the children with wonder,

and the world-weary with aching delight.

The lamps, whose lights fluttered in his passing

told not whether he smiled

or whether his face was many

or only one.

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Everywhere, I saw him.

On ships, walking the prow.

In church, standing silent

as the poor bent a knee beside kings.

Strolling beside farmers’ ploughs.

Waving his pallid fingers

above cribs.

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Everywhere, I saw him.

‘Neath his hat, beaded by rain,

stirred no worldly gaze.

His strides, measured always

to match his chosen ward.

His shoulders, heavy with a timeless suit

made of shadow,

looked the same to me

whether in sunlight

or gilded by the moon.

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One day, I came to him.

Was it a fever I had?

Or exhaustion in my bones?

Or had I struck the first of many nails?

I could not remember.

I spoke to him,

at him

through him.

And he told me,

“Today is not your day.

“Nor tomorrow.

“Look for me no longer.

“And find me later than you expect.”

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J Edward Neill

Find more words here.

Chasing Death – a New Poem

I fear you none.

For though you give chase across time, across ages,

through valleys blackened by pain

and pastures greened with hope,

the labor is solely yours.

You know my name, but yours will go unsaid,

indifferent,

unlooked for

until the moment of leaving, at whose gates I will no longer care.

For though I might gaze across years, across oceans,

toward a horizon whose distance I will know only once,

you cannot touch me until then.

And so I fear you none.

Strip away the leaves of others, take them as you must.

Peel dry the orchard in which I live, whether summer sapling or wintered oak,

whether friend or foe, whether loved or despised.

I care not.

For they are mine forever, and yours but once.

And whence they come to you, wordless and unchangeable,

they are immortal to me.

In spirit indomitable.

In memory indestructible.

So take them. I care not.

Once the forest falls and I am the only one left,

you may cast your shadow upon me.

Victory, you may claim, fleshless, arid, and everlasting.

And you may laugh to see me kneel in the dirt, under grey skies,

under columns of black clouds in which no heaven awaits.

But nameless, I will hold you.

And bittersweet, your conquest.

For the dark line, drawn in the sand at the time of your choosing,

is no loss to me, no more than a whisper in the eon of my soul.

And I shall fear you none.

Whether sharp and sudden or a slow carrion crawl,

my burdens will be shed,

my thousand aches mended,

and sleep again I shall until the ending of all ages.

But you, my friend,

you must toil on.

For whether here or there or a in place yet unnamed,

your work is never done.

 

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J Edward Neill