little deaths

                                      how many little deaths
                                       before we die!
                                 the sword of cowardice
                           bleeds early blood
                     upon our mothers' graves.
               we sit and cry,
         appeased not by the
inundating flood.

bonafide rights we yield
         against the will;
               cognitive dissonance
                     paints mental clouds
                           with arrows sharp and swift
                                 unto the kill,
                                       as days of hopes and dreams
                                             despair enshrouds.

failure is diminutive
         death for him
               who rises not from whence
                     he hits the ground;
                           discouragement inters
                                 the spirit's vim
                                       where smiles from fertile pain
                                             do not rebound.

                                man's threescore-years-and-ten
                                       is but a breath
                                 whose end concludes not when
                           all flesh is gone;
                     beyond earth's shallow sleep,
               life's little death
         must yield its feast until
God's Work is done.

© Copyright 2021 March 17
by Clyve A. Bowen♫