Years ahead to come
Ought give a choice,
More so than some
Rushed thru past life,
Without it lend a voice
To moderate the pace,
Blind so to fleeting time
Was forever on the run,
In its sad habitual chase
Of accepted rush to wait,
Living in a moribund way
As tho life be but sorry gift,
Akin to an indifferent kiss!
‘Tis but the hand
Of skeptics,
Would impart
Their cryptic seed,
That germinates
Its sorry feed,
Said instigates
Worn pessimism,
While in the face
Of man’s betrayal,
Stirs cynics wide
That so impedes
Ones trust naïve,
Thus to deride
Man’s consciousness
Of earth’s demise,
Who callous to amends
Suffers life’s fleeting bide!
Should you doubt
Life’s fleeting pace,
I’ll set you right
On lifespan’s face,
The days that burn
With barely time
To see the night,
Or a full term
Of this life’s race,
Save ye borrow
Someone’s turn
Afore the morrow,
Less fate means play
A slice of mirth,
And chose instead
A bed of earth,
Be untimely stead
Tells best not dwell,
On wasteful notions
While ever nearer be,
Those waiting morrows!
A fleeting thought
I’d wanted so to keep
Did disappear,
Alas without a peep
It might yet reappear!
Poetry on a Canapé 