Seneca's Last Words
Virtuous friends, death now or hereafter
Is immaterial. We live, we die.
We may laugh in poverty; in wealth, cry.
The wind erases all our tears or laughter.
Death crushes him only who, despite fame,
Does not know himself, nor accepts his faults
Or the worthlessness of that on which he dotes.
But he who is humble dies without blame.
Beware the mindless wilderness that lurks
Forever in the darkness of men's greed.
But see, above, how heaven's countless sparks
Illuminate the night like scattered seed.
See, slowly rising, as my blood is drawn,
The sun of understanding in the crimson dawn.
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Comments: 9
So I'll feature it while there is still a half-hour of October left on my side of the pond.
Featured in Mindful Poetry.