The Last Spring

A shattering sound,
Was it a broken heart,
Was it a broken hope,
Oh no...
Was that heart that fragile,
Led that voice to an exile,
From where it was,
Never to return...
That one pregnant pause,
Expanded to years of eerie silence,
That one dark chapter of his life,
As he succumbed to violence.

Even the naked tree of an autumn stands high with the hope of a new beginning,
But what to become,of a man of autumn,who's over with his last spring.

Midst all deceivers,
A silent perceiver,
As he sits under shade of that tree.
Days of his courtship,
That he used to worship,
The girl of his memories.

Even an unsung,unrung,worn out harp,in a maestro's hand might begin to ring,
But what to become,of a man of autumn,who's over with his last spring.

Even the sun of a usurped ruler might one day live to become a king,
But what to become,of a man of autumn,who's over with his last spring.