poetry i forgot i wrote

written on my birthday one year ago:

another day, another month,

another year of my life that's through,

and recalling a line from men who've grown old

who have been where im heading too:

"the days of my life are passing faster,"

what my father told me was true.

i never believed him, my days dragged on,

but im starting to learn what he knew.

don't count the days, the number isn't notable

(though today makes 9-1-3-2)

except to remind that most were wasted,

with nothing holy, noble, or new.

a fact of life is our past does guide us,

our actions demand their due,

but none under heaven, whom God calls a son, 

must live, by his sins, subdued.

our days are short, and getting shorter,

the wise will learn their value,

and will lay aside waste, what's past, and what awaits,

to spend his vapor with Christ as his view.

november 16, 2024