Friday, 8 November 2013

The writtings of Sunny Caane - On death's doors

Men must live their lives as if death may come at any hour. With this view should incline them to live their lives with all seriousness leaving nothing half undone. Everything must be completed, everything that can be attended to must be attended to, for at any hour, death may strike her fatal blow. But men are far from this wisdom. Only a few have this perspective in their hearts, but many are friends of vanity and of time.

I have many times thought that death's hands was knocking on my door. But when I opened the door, it was but the wind against my roof. At times I sigh and at other times relieved because I was not ready to die. For to die unprepared is to die with fear.

I feel now as the man with the ten thousand talents worth of debt. I am on my knees pleading, 'have patience with me, and I will pay you everything.' But we know that such large debts can only be paid back if one has the means to a large fortune. For even if I was to work four hundred years, I should never pay my bill. In this regard, I am hopeless lest my creditors have an eye of mercy.

But my flames are flickering, almost put out. The hour of death is upon me and I shall be my own executor. My name should be thrown in with uselessness and remembered with the dogs. I am but hopeless incarnate, forlorn displaying and misery travelling.

I had lived my life with death far from my eyes as to leave many things undone. I wish I completed a story. I wish I did something good. But now I live too cold to be warmed by the sunshine of love. I keep myself in the shade of isolation. I was a fool to think that time was my friend, but now my own time I must shorten.

I bid you farewell Sunny, I bid you a long farewell.

Roscoe Johnson


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