I am feeling a bit introspective this week due to the death of a friend recently. So here is a poem.
Why are birthdays so profound?
The years sound out like death bells,
For the lost, those that shot,
their load too soon,
Those that fell, the hours spent waiting,
The messages not sent, the letters not written.
The times you betrayed yourself,
Not wanting to climb the mountain.
I feel lost and found,
At least I know I can wait,
The time has come to do,
Something great for those I love,
I cannot abandon hope,
That I have one last shot, of straight, dark rope,
to pull us through the rotten defile,
and take us over the final mile.