Notes To Persephone Book Two: Note Forty-Seven

The horror, the horror, the horror

He watches the master of his life forever gazing down

                They way a hawk watches the fields for a tiny hope

A tick - a second gone -

                Brought his gaze back to the undefeated king

A hand jerks - the coin dropped into the spent plate

                Never to be given back

A tax of life, the master says so

                But the Lord - a fool ruling over this house

Gives a dollar for the lost coin

                He, too, is chained to the same master

 

The hand circles once more

                With him weary from the long day

Walking home to a wife, to a kiss to ease his aching bones

                Walls filled with smiles

Hope was found again in those blue eyes cast to the sky

                Dreams pushed back to tomorrow

He tells himself - sometimes, a whisper

                Holding her hand - sometimes, a cry

Tomorrow will be the hour of those dreams

                He sits there holding the joy of his heart in his arms

 

As I sit next to him in a still thought

                Fear blinks in his mind for a second

Terror fills his worries

                As we both turned to the master

Forever watching, forever driving us forward

The hand ticks an hour away

One step closer to me

                One moment closer to his last breath.