Closure

In all my born days,

the same instinctive, almost compelling urge

tucks in the childhood dreams of  love

in a pine bed.

Joining up a mystery cult

has never made my life list

Instead, growning up, 

the persistence of my resolutions,

has subdued  their obstinate constancy

to the heart-pounding  thrills

set to inflame the final hours
of a formal wake.

Some canyons inspire second-guessing,

Zip-lining is thought  too  extreme

with gravity on our side,

some of us cannot have a long stay,

either scanning or skimming  through life,

we change  the colours which portray  our becoming

beginning to end.
Deductions may be speechless or not,

But headlines of  big  breaks
and  unlucky strikes,

are no breaking  news, they only prove

the cronyism of fate. Still  barefooted,

There’s hardly any warming  for your trail,

with no affordable aid to deny it,

My voice is the only echo coming back.