The old man walks down halls cold as ice
In a castle beyond Time’s roll of the dice
Through corridors of dark and shadowed mist
To at time in the past when there was no bliss.
An ageless relic of battles long ago fought
The old man searches for that which was sought
In ages of gold when knights did ride
With it strapped in leather and hung from the side.
Down endless pathways to dawn’s blue light
The old man seeks truth as a means to sight
A common belief of which he still dreams
That good exists and unfolds in reams.
An accounting of life and the farthest reach
An old man’s search for facts in a breech
Of a cannon that’s loaded with volatile lies
To be lit by a spark from evil eyes.
Only fools search for gold in the ashes of fire
For a man who says he’s found it is surely a liar
When all is tallied the accounting is complete
And the old man dies with tired achy feet.
© 1992 by V. T. Eric Layton