We start this journey in exactly the same way,
And the end by definition is similar for all,
Birth is for rejoicing of a life to be lived,
And death is for celebrating a life’s final curtain call.
🙏
But the in between,
The days and hours that we fill,
Those days are ours to a certain extent,
But they are for our pre-ordained will.
🙏
Some of our story is fixed to some degree,
Written on the walls of our soul,
Certain choices made out in the ether of mystery,
In an endeavour to honour our life’s main goal.
🙏
Destiny plays the game of chance to the ninth degree,
Wrapping us in surety of our destined oath,
Working towards our pre-chosen purpose,
And the best direction to ensure our stable growth.
🙏
We have our chosen lessons to learn in this lifetime,
Destiny woven through the cells of our worth,
We are the divinity of our free will,
During our time here on earth.
🙏
Destiny is designed to guide us in a certain direction,
In an endeavour to honour our chosen quest,
Lessons partaken to hasten our speed,
To live the life that we’d decided is best.
Please click the link below my name to read more of my work. I would also like to thank you for taking the time to read this today and for all your support.
If you enjoy this piece, you may enjoy this one too.
Please visit my website if you'd like more information on my newly published book, Battle Angel : The Ultimate She Warrior.
Originally published on Medium
About the Creator
Colleen Millsteed
My first love is poetry — it’s like a desperate need to write, to free up space in my mind, to escape the constant noise in my head. Most of the time the poems write themselves — I’m just the conduit holding the metaphorical pen.
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More stories from Colleen Millsteed and writers in Poets and other communities.
His Haibun
He does not like poetry; I write it anyway and do not tell him. It's true his face is not a poet's face. It is round and open, youthful; too apt to be compared to the sun. His nose is neat. It is impossible to imagine him smoking a cigarette, terse, full of cheekbones and tension. His warmth burns my fingertips. I am here for his fascinating body, the haphazard freckles I touch one by one; he is here for my eyes, just my eyes. A sunbeam sneaks through the curtains and pierces us both, sizzling the spices of his skin. I inhale and wrap myself in him. He kisses my eyes.
By TheSpinstress4 days ago in Poets
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The birds are chirping, and the sun is shining in a cloudless July sky. The vibrancy promises a beautiful day, but the cooing of the Mourning Dove perched on the powerlines seems to be more fitting than the lively songs of the robin flitting through the trees. The melancholic calls of the dove cloak the world in a sadness that hangs like tattered drapes.
By Alyssa Nicole2 days ago in Confessions
Comments (3)
Wonderful. Especially love that last line.
But sometimes, what destiny unites, life divides. It's just so sad. I wish life was as amazing as your poem. It was awesomeeee!
Okay I loved this, but also congrats on the newly published book!!!