What is your life?
You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes.
James 4:14
Poised on the brink of Bygone beneath dawn’s pink canopy
We touch unbroken ground of endless possibility
The avenue that courses through a flue of stars and dust
Is like Past’s oeuvre laden with hope’s fresh matters of
trust
Where settled on a canvas woven with nettles and gauze
The tug that tests the mettle of the man begins its cause
If we are wise we recognize the prize beneath the bow
How melodies we miss were played on strings of here and
now
How even when the notes we thought would blend startle
the heart
With dissonance, yet, looking back they played a vital
part
Of teaching us to cherish what will perish with the night
Ah, Time is like a lad with a voracious appetite
The poet pleads for patience where the skyline inkwells bleed
And Duty hoists its banner beneath orders to proceed
Where one or fifty poems less not many seem to mind
And never balk against a bridle woven with love’s grind
That steals away the hours like a grand hibiscus-bloom
No matter how delightful, dusk insists upon its plume
Where a fist full of petals none can affix to the stem
Today is like a flower that will never bloom again
The agony of letting go would not exist, my dear
Without the joy that always precedes farewell’s tender
tear
Where on the eastward brink, pastel pink efflorescence slips
From a fresh bud; a world of ink teases our fingertips
© Janet Martin
Gorgeous Janet!
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