Counting the Days

And what is left to count is ashes
And remnants of our alienation;
Some strange sorrows that had crept
Into our hearts like vile damnation;
Words wonder into a strange distance
Remembering divine assistance,
Remembering courtships and support
From days of cradle to days of death,
From days of mirth to wastes of breath,
The path that lead us to this court.
The skylights, illuminating space,
Are witnesses to our disgrace.
The weak men and the strong alike,
Together hand in hand,
Join the sad procession
Of those who are left to stand.
Vivid numbers, blinking eyes,
Trying hard to count the days.
How many left to count the ways
A man can slip when in vain he tries
To get the best of what he pays for life?
Words of poets in the crimson sunset,
Words of losers in a dead-end street,
You have no fiber to withstand
What it takes when these two meet:
The counter and his count
Together well amount
To a handful swept off their feet.

And so we, proud beggars, heirs to our fate,
Decline to account for our shares of love and hate,
Respectfully abiding to the Law that says
That each man, woman and child is counting the days.
Strolling down the alleys of Illusion and Greed,
Meeting Death who comes to teach us of our deepest need.
Death is wise, we shall understand, consider it afresh,
Learning baby steps as we walk the path of all flesh.