I mark the days off my calender as they pass,
With a dash of the pen and they're gone.
The days are in fact years, that blow
In and around me. I feel them; heartfelt
And then momentarily, they become the past. I remember.
But the days that are to come; the numbers are unknown;
I fear them, for I know the past, I lived it, but what's to come,
I must face without knowledge, bearing only hope.
I pray they will be kind to me: but I know I will have to fight,
As I fought each day up till now. No answers will be handed to me,
No gift or help except from above and then, only if I live my faith.
And in the end, was it all worth it. To those precious to me...yes!
My purpose fullfilled...no, not yet. I must fight all the harder.
The doors will not open, I must open them.
The answers will not come, I must search for them.
And maybe, I can justify my life in my later years...will see.