In Doubt, Hope Remains

Coming into the years of mortality-- The truth is, I was never away, even though The young think they live forever. There is need for reflection, For restitution, But not in the vain last seconds of life. Too late, Too late: When the horn blast blows out the lamp, And we are silenced Like snowfall Covering the crocuses. There is a hiatus of short duration For this mortal frame. Beyond that lies the vast unknown. In all honesty it is so-- But still there is denial, as in youth. In that denial is hope, our final refuge. (Literal interpretations are the habitations of small minds.)