When the Bank Opens
no shaky palms,
no need to fight.
Remorse is for laggards who stalled,
whispered dreams they never called.
I have wept in sunlight
and danced in rain.
I chased the dawn’s train
till my breath gave out.
I’ve faced the mirror,
met my silhouette,
lost with grace,
loved with no regret.
Beggars, the fearful,
plead for one day more,
to rewrite lines,
then lose the same way through the door.
But I?
In strides, have made my peace
where the soul lives,
and loose ends cease.
Let others sob or bargain mercy,
I won’t be knocking at death’s gate.
No chance the soft-spoken, timeless warrior,
stricken bold,
meets it walking,
like stories told
without a care go:
on my mark, go.
So once the last bell beats,
do not slow the symphony that greets.
I’ll wrap my do-overs with dawn’s gold light,
before the bank opens,
I’ll be out of sight.
The Pen That Never Runs Dry
Sip & Support
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