Retrospection

Frail was when
Nezugbo winced, rose-thorn
In hand, pricked when last night
Rolled up amid the loud silence
Of a tumbling rock
Flinched at the deep's receding
Refrain

Ill was where
He mumbled frosty words
Transfixed to his pee-wet mat
The walls whispering
Whimpering hands steadying
His stooping frame, frail
Like a broken grail on a lamp-stand

Dead was
How he bent the neck
Tear-flood penned down
The cheeks, a queue of visions
Flashing back
Decades of deeds
A cascade of misdeeds
The songs fallen to parted lips
Unsung

Frail was
When a pricking rose-thorn
Fell at his numb feet
Ill was
Where frosty words
Bounced off the pee-wet mat
Dead was
How he trekked that blood-sodden
Path downhill
Down to quiet