Journeying

Journeying When you are in it you can’t see it Looking back you sometimes seem To catch a pattern. When I die You’ll tell stories about me For a while Probably not my story But who cares or controls? I can’t But I feel At times The arc of my days Death is coming towards me Not moving fast But steadily and purposefully. I used to fear death Wanted to bargain with God I now know I have no power No control Only a life to lead A life that matters More precious than ever.