Morning Come Poem by david robicheaux

Morning had just come
My ears still rung
From drums of songs sung
The fire became the heart
Of those I sat among
Woven was a tapestry
Of tell-tales spun
By would be bards
Barred by entangled woodlands
Encircling the band of vagrant vagabonds
Wine and mead boasted its influence
With merriment and scattered giggles
Yet in the mist of such fulfilling joy
My stomach churned in twisting knots
Through blissfully ignoring ingrained moral code
Then it set in, a sense of doom
A sense of mortality
20 years it took for common wisdom to be absorbed
To be understood
All awhile pompous death danced, fiddle in hand, before me
Teasing its food before devouring me as the morsel I am
To wallow in ignorance, to think I am in control
My friend, control is but an illusion
In a sense the morning had just come