Who would shun the chances that life offers,
Negate potential gain because of fears?
Who dismisses what each chalice proffers
But begs with thirst and cries for wasted years?
Why would any soul still fond of living
Draw blinds when sunbeams herald daybreak’s gift,
Huddle down in darkness, scared of shining,
Allow all fleeting moments then to drift?
A sullied sort of existential ruin
That wishes for and prays then barters grief,
Wails their woeful howls at waning moon, with
Persistent yet but absent self-belief.
‘No dress rehearsal’ – words fit to ponder.
Gratitude and action make for wonder.
scottishmomus 