Rough draft

You know, I'm getting old.

(And that's 'tween you and me.)

I'm feeling like I need to leave

some kind of legacy.

and so, I've set aside my family,

and my responsibility

I've decided to follow a dream of mine,

I've had since I was thirty-three.

A book! I'm going to write.

What kind should it be?

Possibly a mystery.

I've so many stories to tell.

A personal history?

That would do just as well.

And as I sit and stare

At the page in front of me.

The realization burns

like the embers of the fire.

I'd do just as well to simply retire.

All the letters in the world,

all the papers made from trees

won't do me any good today

cause i've not got much to say.

 

pj

The Sentinel

Silently poised, the Sentinel awaits.

Ever on guard, awaiting his fate.

Clad in his armor he watches and listens.

The sun in his eyes, on the water it glistens.

 

The enemy approaches! He sounds the alarm.

He must keep his fellows safe from all harm.

Quickly! To the walls! Prepare for the fight.

It might be for a season, it might be for the night.

 

Swept into battle, he makes his last stand.

His valor unnoticed by all other men.

Was his work with out purpose? Is his life all in vain?

Did he spare just one other from suffering pain?

 

Ah; dear sentinel, had you lived you would see

How your quiet watch sheltered me.

You'd know in an instant it's part of the plan.

And you'd not change a thing if you had to do it again.