Borrowed Time [sonnet]

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borrowed_time

Like Autumn leaves I live on borrowed time
before the parched and brownly breeze-dried branch
becomes a lifeless dusty paradigm
and all my sparks dissolve in avalanche.
Four times a taste of death has struck with force;
yet every watershed in which I swam —
despite the piercing nature of the course —
has shaped my world and made me who I am.
But whether this has been for good or ill
can only be determined by the wise
for my own judgement’s wet and tender eyes
were early clouded by a bitter pill.
One thing I know: my life hangs by a strand
and soon I’ll know what lies beyond first-hand.

© 2012, Alan Morrison

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