The Beacon

I have given this world enough;
maybe even too much
But I know not how to stop

Each new day is one I could have
easily been kept from finding
So on turn the wheels within

There is great fear to be found alongside
the notion of unfinished business
We shall pen each page, save our last

And all of the unchosen paths
are our lifetimes too
Make time to write them out as well

Else the universe loses us
when we lose ourselves;
the hourglass made of our own sand

Yield, and you will never be
tomorrow's buried treasure
Therefore fight on

You may become a name
stretched across the continuum;
tasting the wine at every age

We are poison smitten with cures
So, in our time here, let us tangle
Let us kiss as we are being bitten

For there will be plenty of days
without worries
When you have them, you'll be dead

Poetry from The Astrals by Shane Windham
E-book and paperback now on Amazon.com

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