My Final Hour Poem by Kurt Philip Behm

My Final Hour



With age,
My sword
Is deeply scarred
But its edge
Honed twice as sharp

With age,
My words
Are penned in blood
All flowing
From the heart

With age,
I embrace what
Truth reveals
And am humbled
By its power

With age,
My light burns
Free at last
To illume
—my final hour

(Villanova Pennsylvania: July,2016)

Sunday, August 7, 2016
Topic(s) of this poem: power
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