The Last Journey.

 Like a ghost walking

He stepped carefully

Into the car that would speed him home

As though it were a boat rocking

Against the storm lashed quay.

For a moment he mistook the chauffeur

For the Ferryman

And turned away startled, but not afraid.

He looked back at the crowd of smiling nurses

Gathered on the steps to wish him well

And gave a nervous wave.

His quirky smile was delicately nuanced

To hide his grief at parting

From so many friendships made in three short weeks.

His life had been a continuum of partings,

But this time the hurt was visceral.

Somehow he knew this was the final journey,

That his heart was only strong enough for this

And would soon give way

And simply cease to beat.

Better to die at home in his old warm bed

Than cut off from his wife and family.

But the icy wind this wintry April morning

Made him cling to dreams he knew were ephemeral.

He dreamed of a different journey, in a fine tall ship,

To the archipelago where he was born.

There he could rest and watch the dolphins leap

The quiet waves lifting slow towards the shore.

And there Charon`s barge, crowded with lonely strangers,

Was just another small boat out to sea.

He nodded to the chauffeur awkwardly,

And without more ado was driven away.

Trevor John Karsavin Potter.

April 17th. - 18th. - 20th. 2021.