The Old Gentleman's Study

Dissected walls that coalesce

with decorative coverings long ago tooled,

hold up the plaques and portraits and crests

of the old gentleman’s study, where once he ruled.

The aristocrat’s gone but his treasure remains

testifying mutely of his vanity’s hold.

For though he had more than most men attain,

it was never enough to quench lust for gold.

Many a word was spoken here,

before the inundation neared.

And many a glass was raised in praise

of his wisdom, his fortune, his worldly ways.

A crystal decanter from which brandy once flowed

lies broken in slivers on a rug-covered floor.

Imported from Persia such a long time ago,

the carpet lies bleeding with mud covered spores.

His gold-plated harp and a knight’s once proud armor

stand encumbered with filth from the wind and rain.

A bejeweled music box on the mantel, sits silent

with emeralds covering the song never played.

A statue of Venus, a portrait of jinns

from the corner the flood did invade,

were the last things he saw when the stormy dark wind

swept him away to his grave.

Yes, many a word was spoken here,

before the inundation neared.

And many a glass was raised in praise

of his wisdom, his fortune, his worldly ways.

A trophy display case with spider web cracks

housing honors that once he was paid,

speaks volumes in silence of victories past

and the fortune and power attained.

But let us not dwell on his fame or his wealth,

and let us not be deceived . . .

Nor with credit or cash could he save himself

from succumbing to destiny’s greed.