Rebirth

The passing years through trembling fingers slip, like worry beads unsurely strung along life’s fraying thread. Sages, seers and cynics peer and say when it will snap, but why regard the sing-song whine of those who seldom glimpse their own demise? Mysteries and magic ventures, bold and tragic— reason, rhyme and rhetoric— will someday undistinguished lie inside life’s tome, its legion seals intact. But should some day a mighty hand this fearsome book disturb and turn the page that lets me fly, on fairest wings of reborn time I’d soar and find my way back home.