destiny

"The civil plots his minutes bit by bit;
As he designs his bed, sleeps he in it."―cab

days are not cast in stone, // nor nights in death,
for lo, fleet minutes wither, breath by breath;
each citizen of earth must choose, alone,
his destiny, lest, meagre to the bone,

no stable anchor finds // he for his soul.
the wise man marks his ink upon the scroll,
the increment of every tie that binds,
which, at day's end, his destiny defines.

eyes that can see beyond // the moment's glee
may yet perceive a grander jubilee;
moment-by-moment care must correspond
with expectations fashioned a la grande.

nor are dark nights the thrust // of hell's swift sword
for those who fear his fatal flames to fjord;
though you may sleep to dream, awake you must,
for daylight destinies call forth the just

to harvesttimes of joy // beyond the reach
of those whose excellence is found in breach.
redeem the times: with every breath employ
sweet psalmody for heav'n's soliloquy.

© Copyright 2023 November 10
by Clyve A. Bowen♫