against waiting light
he clutches shadows of
accumulated disappointments
a constant visitor
comfortable friendship blinding him
from hope
 
set in his ways,
to the light, he speaks
 
“There is no destination.
Only a beginning, middle and end
destined to live.”
 
inherited words he believes
to the last second
as shadows swallow
his breath
 
in time,
light trickles upon his grassed over grave
 
flowers burst from earth
near rebels making love
beside his sacred space
 
through strangers, new life blooms
 
a second chance, created within
new bones, old soul
set in his ways
destined to live
again,
and again
and again
going through the motions
concluding:
 
“There is no destination.
Only a beginning, middle and end
on repeat.”