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Poems By Poet Albert Ahearn  1/30/2015 4:53:54 AM
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  ALBERT AHEARN
 
 
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  185.     

Death to all.... Have fun!

I heard a song the other day; it strummed
A chord within, this way: The lyrics sung
Expressed that we convey a summed
Philosophy: Our days are numbered, son.
We're born to die and there's no warning light.
This is our fate, our expiration date.
So live your life as though your deaths tonight
The fullest that money can buy this late.
Tomorrow the sorrow of death might come
Despite being old or young. Beat the drum
And dance. Have fun! Laugh and sing, don't be glum.
We'll celebrate, it's never too late, hon
The parties begun, be not a mourner
Grim-reapers peeking around the corner.
 
Albert Ahearn
   
 

   
   
 

  186.     

Deathbed Discourse

This past week I lost two good friends. The one friend I lost to cancer. The poor guy suffered horribly. All through his ordeal his wife was by his bedside. I began to reflect on this and I tried to put myself in his place. What would I say? What would I think knowing I was about to die? Shortly after musing, I composed this sonnet.

Weep no tears for me at this time and place.
A thousand eyes change not my destiny.
All living things must die eventually
Except my love for you, which I embrace.
Feel not sad for me looking at my face
Although it's old and wrinkled you can see
A budding rose should age so gracefully.
My time grows near my love; in any case
Your life goes on nevertheless my love.
So wipe those eyes dry of life's mournful dew
And think not this time undeserving of.
Life had been kind, more so, finding you.
A lifelong companion envied above
By angels and cherubs alike, love!
 
Albert Ahearn
   
 

   
   
 

  187.     

Deciduous Leaves

The xylem saps are heading south
like the majestic autumn sun,
deep down into their woody roots.
Soon deciduous leaves will die
and their exquisite lingering
dissolutions will manifest
tinctured, ephemeral beauty:
crimsons, oranges, yellows and greens
and all the subtle hues in between.
A sweet, earthy scent saturates
the cool, autumnal air we breathe.
Then one by one each leaf succumbs
to a gentle rain or zephyr
descending silently to earth.
 
Albert Ahearn
   
 

   
   
 

  188.     

Deferred Pen

It is five thirty and I am at my desk
With the intention of writing something.
I’m sitting waiting for inspiration
But the stimulation has not surfaced
Yet. All I hear are the sounds of children
Playing and the hum of my computer.
The thought occurred to me, don’t write just yet
Drop everything and sit out on the deck
And watch the indefatigable youth
Live life the way only a child can live:
Never thinking about the tomorrows
Only the present is all that matters.
Know what? I’m going to act on that thought
Inspiration or not, I’m out of here!
 
Albert Ahearn
   
 
 
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Poems By Poet Albert Ahearn