Twixt Bookends of Eternal Dark

Where were you so long ago? All those eons before a tot. In some distant god’s château? No. Not there. You were not. Perhaps a soul in surplus stock, A spirit not yet wrought. Dressed in some heavenly frock, No. Not there. You were not. Then came a twist of fate, Sperm and egg were now one. In this way did they create, Your life had just begun. So began your book of life, One made in volumes three. The past, the present, And the yet-to-be. Will you write only pleasant, In that book of volume present,? Many matters to disavow, And to others, a mere meow. Life is more than just career, As mere living makes more clear. What great act earns its worth, To make your mark upon the Earth? Enjoy the time to stand and stare, Heat of sun on face and hair. The train of life rolls on rails of time, All travel stops at the end of the line. And when that last word is writ, The final page that you submit, When there is no more yet-to-be, You close the book on volume three. At the end, where do you go? To the place you were taught? To some distant god’s château? No. Not there. You are not. Your Book of Life, a mere spark, ‘Twixt bookends of eternal dark.