Engraved
He was not impressed.
God knew the number of hairs on his head.
Did that include his beard if he ever grew one?
He would ponder this and other such anomalies of faith.
Why would a Supreme Being care about numbers,
or sparrows falling from the sky, or follicle formations?
Perhaps we were given a number at conception
engraved into our spiritual destiny? Did the number
follow us in death, or were positions changed
by Karmic endeavor and final placements rated
by lifetime achievements or failures?
On his ninety third birthday he received a card.
It showed how many seconds, minutes, hours,
days, months and years he had lived.
He pondered the meaning and worth of such information.
How could you measure Oct 26, 1963 against any other day?
And why would you? Was death, or life, just a numbers game?
A competition? A Cosmic Reality Show? A spiritual ratings contest?
He remembered fewer days as he got older.
Settled for snapshot glimpses of sunshine and snowflakes,
Nameless, yet familiar, smiles beckoning him
toward an un-numbered future.
He was not impressed
for he knew that God knew.
©2/10/2023
Writing Challenge – E Words Poetry Contest
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