One breath closer
one minute older
each turn within this time
these tools of every chime.
One step farther
one grip harder
another laden stone
from flesh to destined bone.
If eyes won’t see
then hands will seek
to grope about
in darkness deep
on journey carved and sealed
from destiny revealed.
Why waste one step
one breath
one chime...
On fruitless things of fickle stime,
When so much more can be,
Which hand shall turn thy key?
Old friend, I must agree.
Deo Volente
October 15, 2010
No comments:
Post a Comment