Survival Poem by Patti Masterman

And all the survivals through history,
Penultimate, lead up to me;
And the dead join death in a mystery,
Someplace we can never see.

Fathomless things you can't unwind,
But survival is a kind of pay,
To live a life, sometimes unkind-
Because it's the only way.

And all the survivals through history,
Beg to borrow just one more hour;
And living is a kind of witchery,
For no man understand it's power.

Fathomless things we pay homage to;
We worship what we cannot know-
Still breathing, a thing that's known to few-
That we'd mortgage where we cannot go.