To every story there comes the point of ending;
To every life there comes a time for leaving-
For everything under the sun has a planned close
Like ticking clocks that soon are muted in repose.
For every flower that blooms will soon dry up and wither
All living things and Man perish sooner or later
As grass falls to the lowly ground to find its rest
Waves, though high, will cease to roll upon its crest
So like a coming home to meet in valiant resignation
Our fate as mortals meant for a common designation,
We breathe today with no guarantees of ever after
Except the starkness of Truth: 'No man lives forever.'
All rights reserved ~~~Cynthia Buhain-Baello~~~03.16.14
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A beautiful piece. Nicely written. However may I be so bold as to suggest that the line we breathe today with no possibilities of tomorrow might be better using the word guarantees instead of possibilities? Just a thought. Still a lovely poem!