A Precious LifeA Poem by James A story about missed opportunities and wasted time. Just updated to clear some of the bumpiness. A young boy sat atop a hill Wondering at all his Father had built He thought about the clouds, the flowers, and the trees He thought about his life, what it all means. Then he saw death, dark and grim Walking up the hill, directly towards him. With fear and dread, the young boy cried “I am not ready, this can’t be my time.” Death listened to the Young boy’s cry. And asked “why should I grant you more time? Convince me?” He said. “Then we will see If you are deserving. Perhaps I’ll let you be.” The boy stared Death directly in the eye. He searched his heart and then knew why His life should be spared. He deserved more time. The boy stood straight and tall on his feet And said, “I have never sung a song so sweet.” Never written a poem that changed a life, Or shared a kiss with my future wife.” Death sat and listened with intent To the boys argument and was convinced That this boy was indeed sincere and true, He would not take him with his years so few. Death said “Go live your precious life, Write your poem and find your wife. Sing your song with a verse so sweet That man will bow beneath your feet.” “I will come again when the time is right And we will continue our journey into the night.” “But, heed my warning to you. Live your life right and always be true.” The young boy grew into a tall, strong man. He found success, money, friends and fame. But in all his glory he was alone And he walked again to his childhood home. He climbed to the top of an old familiar hill And as he stared across the land, He marveled at the majesty of his Fathers hand And the man sat down to ponder his life. As he sat Deaths shadow came into view The man stood and said, “I remember you.” “You came for me here when I was young and afraid, And showed mercy on a small boy and set him on his way. But, I beg you please, don’t take me today, for I have sinned and lost my way. I am empty inside, I still need my life. I haven’t my poem, my song or my wife.” Death said, “Write your poem and find your wife. Find your song and live your life. When next we meet, I promise you, Your life will end, it will be through.” The man traveled the world and enjoyed its pleasures. He made and lost an endless treasure. But, time was not the man’s best friend. And He grew old, his time was coming to an end. His money spent and his friends all gone. The old man set out to find his song. He tried to write poetry, but couldn’t find a rhyme. He searched for his love, but she too had faded with time. And he came at last to a familiar space, A tall hill overlooking a plentiful place. The old man clambered up the steep hill And sat in awe of his Fathers will. And as he sat he saw a friendly face. Death had come to their old meeting place. Death stared into his ragged face and weathered eyes, And said, “How are you, my friend? How have you passed the time?” The old man stood and stared Death in the eye. With a heavy breath, he let out a sigh. “I never wrote my poem and I never sang my verse. I never found my love and loneliness has been my curse.” He paused for a moment before he said, “I am ready my friend for my eternal bed Take me now for I’ve nothing to show Nothing at all for your years that I stole.” Death took his friend who had known no harm. Down that tired hill, they walked, arm in arm. Through the green valley that his Father created
And into the shadows, his image faded. © 2016 JamesAuthor's Note
Featured Review
Reviews
|
StatsAuthor
Related WritingPeople who liked this story also liked..
|
![[send message]](https://www.writerscafe.org/images/mail.png){kind=small}
![[befriend]](https://www.writerscafe.org/images/friend.png){kind=small}
Share This
Email
Facebook
Twitter
Read Request
My Library
Flag Writing
