The Dying Man Drank Wine

The dying man across from me drank from his glass of wine,

In haste to close our conversation,

I pulled in deep from mine.

When he spoke about our pretext, the weather or the day,

I listened to his musings, his words and his word play.

I found this man was funny, his eyes were even kind,

His mind was quite familiar,

Alike indeed to mine.

But as the moments flowed,

From the bottle to the glass,

Soon darkness over took us,

Forever yet to last.

For the toxin that I had slipped,

Betwixt his wine-soaked lips,

Was in the end a shared demise,

And this I must surmise.

When hatred burns,

And resentment turns,

To murder in the mind,

Forgiveness is due,

If not you’ll rue the life you leave behind.

If you sow destruction,

Destruction you shall find,

As surely as you both shall sip from the poisoned glass of wine.