In Days To Come Poem by Jonathan ROBIN

In days to come when, dumb, one strums no more
rhymed witness to timed world where butterflies
still dance rare marbled patterns through fair skies?
when life lies sunk to rest unblessed before
most memories fade, who’ll feel one penny poor?
Men, wor[l]dy-wise, ignore one poor demise,
for life continues as before - here lies
wry irony. Reflections poet pours
in [l]ink think themes on pixel pages’ scores
fade with ambitions one can’t realize,
when hopes unmet forget joy’s first surprise.
Self is both root and cause of fatal flaws.

Wor[l]d memory: wax candle w[e]aned from flame,
leaves aims' search vain, masks answers to Life’s game.