Scribe

To write of self, to scribe of 'me'
I fear would be futility
For I am an uncertainty

From day to night and night to day
I am like sky that slips away
Changing colors of blue to gray
Splashed across my destiny

In summers warm and winters chilled
I am the breath from lips thought stilled
And secrets kept as time has willed
Whispered within eternity

I am song heard in drifted breeze
And the silence of dawn's reprise
I am dreams and realities
Meandering through life's journey

So from young to old, back again,
From where things end and they begin
Are scattered words that I might pen
To write of self, to scribe of 'me'



© mdbadgerow  2009