I stand marooned at life’s most distant shore
With all the old eternities behind,
And face the frigid future’s cold attack
With all the faded blessings of the blind.
What frown has laced my narrow path across
What distance set apart the me from mine,
What rank disaster stands between
The water and the wine,
Or falls between the dreamer and the dross?

A step may drive me onward to the void,
Or poise me at the brink of certainty,
Where oceans tack and edge this ragged world
To draw me in to some deep verity.
A storm may cast my life and love adrift
To leave this weary sentinel alone,
What acres lie between me and
The rolling of the stone,
Or sound the shallow waters of your shift?

David Lewis Paget