Of one thing I am certain
Of one thing I am certain
Of one thing I am certain
My birthday will fall
On a Wednesday next year
The lines on the wall
More blurred than clear
As I wait for the sign
To dramatically appear
A gong to sound
A bugle to call
I was born in spring
Now summer comes early
A season lies in state
To tell you life is merely
A document of fate
A journal of travel
From gate to gate
With tickets to transience
That we cling to so dearly
Of one thing I am certain
Nothing does return
Itinerant fog, a falling leaf
You cannot unlearn
You can’t trap grief
Return stolen moments
By time, the thief
Or recreate from ashes
The things you burn
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2 Comments
I enjoyed reading this very much. I like rhyming poetry too, but when it is forced, the poem often suffers. Not in your case. I found the rhyme elegant and unstrained.
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