We’ve heard much of lighted tunnels

Welcoming arms reach from the past

Into oblivion our sand funnels

That’s not the way I plan to leave

Giving my soul without a fight

I’ll cling desperate to this mortal sleeve

My last will not be a good night

Old age flickers like a candle

And glorious deeds in shadows lie

Dying tears are hard to handle

a final question whispered, “Why?”

Before I run down the curtain

I’ll give that bucket a mighty kick

Though my demise is all but certain

I won’t go quietly or quick

Like sheep led to the slaughter

Their eyes blank with empty stares

Passively becoming fodder

Stripped easily of all their wares

While some may suffer accident

That makes their heart contrite

I won’t suddenly become penitent

My last will not be a good night

Soon the boatman will be beckoning

And death will finally have success

But it will be a bitter reckoning

I’ll not go peacefully to my rest

Copyright ©2007 Anthony Hall