What stands before the path of man that to his conscious calls?
What errant spun devices cast a doubt where shadows fall?
What is the fleeting last regret that spins a temporal web of lies?
What casts a haunting second breath before the mournful cries?
Tis locked in deep regression, where only courage can transcend.
Tis in the danced illusion that wraps his mortal soul in sin.
Tis nothing less than innocence engaged in dreams beyond.
Tis only shied experience ‘till age can take it on.
For here upon the precipice of aging mortal waves,
is seen a lifetime’s counter call in triumphed moments saved.
Here recall the history that to these feet has blessed,
that what’s before in mystery has once or twice been second guessed.
To grey and tattered countenance upon the head and cheeks.
To moment’s hope impaled in hate forever left beneath white peaks.
To kindest wrinkles manifest by laughter stolen in a sleep.
To every living texture’s thread so stitched within the soul so deep.
Raise a glass to history! Call a toast to life!
Sing a song of mystery that courage grows from human strife!
Bless the living innocents that by their lacking wisdom go,
to fall and muster strength to rise and come to this of what men know.