The elder

He lives his life
and yet he deeply knows he has to die.

What else can he do
but look at the scarves
on his skin and bones
from countless battles and fights
with his shadows and their knights.

How often did he fall?
How often did he rise?
Without knowing if he could,
without knowing if he would
be able to ask for help
or remain with his pain.

Blessed be him
who laughs and cries,
who sings and shouts,
who plays and fools,
who sees and knows…

How to weep and mourn,
to awe and rejoice,
to hate and love…

to love,
to love,
to fiercely love.