by Chris Biles
There was a man I knew who saw his doom,
a man who lived his life in shadows of stars,
dependent on the lack of light, that source
of scars he made, afraid as destiny loomed.
So used to all the sorrow life exhumed,
he never stayed with those he loved. Afar
he roamed and with regret, his body marred,
he knew his scars had never felt true wounds.
But when he knew the end was there to take
him down his final road, his hopeless mood
no longer pulled his body to the ground.
In light he walked with purpose clear, awake
to duty, intent to live without the feud
that made him grim. He died a man unbound.