Does one really knows when catastrophe will strike?
Some sense portent of the bizarre by malediction.
Did the Mayans really understand God, and science
Or... did Nostradamas own a Waterford crystal ball?
And... should I waken from my pine-boxed sleep
Will the chilled silence explain my mortal being?
I know of no elixir that will soothe your manic mind;
I can speculate but that would be merely speculation.
Truth is... I possess no quench to deign such queries;
Reason being, Lifes too short for the non-negotiables.
© 2015-All rights reserved
Frank James Ryan, Jr/FjR
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem