If I could know the title given
to the life that would follow
forewarned by script's hand
this prophecy yet to pass
chapters made of shifting pages
some pristine and others tattered
with many more yet to turn
if the fates feel it's deserved
precepted by a declaration
only gods know the heading
stating future's hidden winding
perfect in the rearview mirror
still a warning would be nice
six foot tall against the sky
this dream will fail in the future
portents lost in lettered scribbles.
© 2019. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved.20191114.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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