The last sweet..

The last sweet..

I reckoned years—how few!—and fewer still
Remain to waste on folly or on fear;
Time’s tide recedes, and leaves upon the hill
Gray sands that whisper, “Thy departure’s near.”
No golden prime remains, no morning thrill,
No mirth of youth, nor noon of strong career—
But dusk, and with it, clarity profound,
When silence speaks and shadows gather round.

As once a child with sugared prize in hand
Delays the joy, prolongs the fleeting taste,
So linger I, and vainly try to stand
Against Time’s march, so merciless, so chaste.
I thought—“What now? What more to understand?”
And knew, at once, there’s no more time to waste.
Not on decorum, soft deceit, or show,
Nor on debates that neither flame nor glow.

For in the eve of life, all masks must fall,
All postures, puffed by pride, must be laid bare.
The soldier, ‘ere he hears the final call,
Knows not to waste his breath in empty prayer.
No time remains to save the world entire,
No hour to forge another heart’s desire.
No time to gather friends or battle wrong—
How swift the truth! How late! Yet ever strong.

Forgive me, Lord, if I no longer strive
To pluck the soul from every blighted flame.
I fought—and fell—and rose again alive,
But cannot war for each forgotten name.
The shame is mine, to speak this truth aloud,
Yet falsehood now would be a heavier shroud.

;

We count not life in years, but in the gleam
Of moments lit by love’s eternal sun.
The rest—a haze, a swiftly vanished dream,
A tale of dust the western winds outrun.
Love halts the clock; time yields before its stream,
And all else fades before the thing begun.
O precious now! O flickering delight!
O breath we hold before the fall of night.

How vain the chase for happiness we make,
When joy is born not in the sought—but known.
The path lies clear, though thorns may pierce and break—
We rise the highest when we fall alone.
And once the end is glimpsed across the wake,
The stars align, and weary hearts are shown
That only age unveils the destined aim—
And that from ruin may arise a flame.

;

Before that hour, we wandered, blind and proud,
Drank deep of life and let the goblet fall;
We feared no fate, nor heeded conscience loud—
Yet burned the days as torches on the wall.
But God, in grace, returns us to the crowd
With one last glance, one echo of the call.
Then know we—only one life was ever given,
And only one shall be received in Heaven.

In that lone life all things must find their place—
The friend, the traitor, triumph, curse, and grace.
To walk with whom? To dwell in which abode?
No Fate shall rule—we choose the narrow road.
That life ascends, through silence, toward the goal,
To peace with God, to stillness in the soul.
Each hour is sweet, each step by mercy blessed—
And death no thief, but harbinger of rest.

So let it come—I shall not pale nor cry,
But greet the dusk with soldier’s quiet pride:
“Perhaps I failed, yet all I dared, I tried—
And never let the standard fall or lie.”
For such the fate of those whom years refine:
To live the last, not by the world’s design—
But like a child, with sweet in quiet hand,
Who smiles and dreams—too wise to understand

Inspired by Mario de Andrade “ My soul is in a hurry”