The past came calling.

On that night of gloom;

When the evening seemed awful;

The moon coming out as if it portends doom;

The stronghold shaking in scansion.

The spirit is far-fetched;

Its nature is not stretched.

The past came calling;

The wergild must be paid;

The prodigal son is not yet repentant.

When the day of reckoning appears

All will be in mourning and tears

Sorrow clings to him

The pedantic tunes of the monotonous hymns

Splufic the sorrow seems.

Weak and abandoned he felt

Resting on the shoulders of hope.

He clung to the wheel of faith

Believing the word that stretches like rope

Looking up lightens the weight.

Life is truly a game,

If you take the wrong steps

Your life turns nothing but a maim

But the right deeds, joys leapt.

©Benedict Niums, 2015

Welcome o the month of March.

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