In the dream I'm walking
next to myself.
Meeting on a path freshly worn.
"How's your health?"

"Splendid," is the reply.
"The sun's setting."
We watch the orb draw into night.
"Not fretting?"

"No," I answer sighing.
"Life has been good."
She nods with an air of knowing.
As she should.

*"We have fought a good fight,
and stayed our coarse.*
We have learned much and taught them well.
No remorse!"

I glance down at hands
thin and frail--old--
then turn to face her youthful gaze,
now turned cold.

The moon above shifts down
showing a road
aged with eons and journeys, past
without abode.

"We have fought a good fight,
and stayed our coarse.
We have learned much and taught them well.
No remorse."

"No," I answer sighing.
"Life has been good."
She nods with an air of knowing,
as she should.

Out the dream I'm walking
next to myself.
Meeting on that path aptly named,
'Hades' Wealth.'




*Reminiscent of a quote from Paul in the Bible.* ((Also, I used 'Hades' because its the greek word for 'grave.' This is a poem about death.))