The Dying Light
Though the raindrops spill upon me,
It doesn’t stop my crying unrelentingly.
Even within the wind and wayward drops,
Are tears that well up and refuse to stop.
It’s the days that I live between them,
That captures my heart but doesn’t condemn.
For thoughts of life, love, and anticipation,
Can’t be washed away regardless the situation.
Come stand with me on the isles of eternity,
Where warm breezes blow me toward my destiny.
It’s thought that life, this three score and ten,
Would be enough to see all that has ever been.
Surrendering my soul to the last of the light,
I look inward to be sure that all is right.
For to walk alone the last mile of the way,
Makes one wish for just one more day.
About the Creator
Dan R Fowler
Dan R. Fowler. 71, writing is more than a hobby, it's a place for me to become anyone I choose to be, visit mystical scenes, or swim deep within my brain. e-book paperback, or audible. type dan r fowler on the search line. Amazon
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Koyi wobbled to her shabby wood and straw kaz, holding her machete and an old burlap bag with some yams. Someone had laid another basket in front of the patched up door—rose apples today. They were a bright reddish pink, looking waxy and crisp, just the way she liked them. The culprit knew her very well. Those would be crunchy, juicy and sweet—she could tell—but she gathered all the will she could muster and pushed the basket aside to enter her home. She had already said no repeatedly and would not be taking bribes.
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