DISCLAIMER: This poem is the creation and property of Cheree Cargill and is copyright (c) 1974 by Cheree Cargill. It was originally printed in Tal-Shaya #3, 1974.

Dying

Cheree Cargill

What is it to dream of home again?

A sigh, a shuddering breath,

"A flower dying in the desert."

I am old, old

Older than the world is old

I have watched it all.

Gods, earth gods, One God,

Back again to no gods

For me; yet I have known Him.

Kings, wars, plagues, peace.

They all formed this clay

To the present image.

Beauty, love, children, death.

How many sons have I fathered?

How many killed?

A trill, flutter like a birdsong,

A face, formed on canvas,

A thought to an old wise man.

Man does not change,

Only his machines.

Where are they now?

Mortal, immortal love,

Where are you to comfort me?

I lost you like a daughter.

So old, so old

Can I really die?

Not I; maybe I am God.

So old...