Our Stolen Days

Our Stolen Days The given days we take, Childlike, heedless of consequence. We swallow them as our due, Our entitled share of happiness At least, the consideration of the stake Each of us holds in the balance Of fond remembrance or of rue, Our final denouement Before the last event. How easy to accept the simple days, The ones that pass as did our forebears'. The sun shines, the day proceeds To cast its mark upon us, As did the imprint of our history, As did the simple, bloodbourne shares Of beauty and of misery That make us what we are; what binds our ways, What closes out our nights, then sleeps and stays And builds our trust In days to come upon us yet, unaware From whence is born their mystery, Their fulfilment of our needs. But then there are the stolen days, The days we snatched away from death, Those days when all the golden rays Are suddenly nearly snuffed As a candle before a breeze; A turn one way or another. A step put forth or turned aside Deflects disaster with illusory ease To let us yet abide With friend or brother, With all we love, that with continued breath We appreciate the stay; doom rebuffed, Our lives renewed, enchanted.