Magic, Myths, and Me

What I’ve learned is how brief life can be,
A fleeting wisp, a wave upon the sea.
So I do what I love, and I love what I do,
Under morning suns and glowing moons’ hue.

The spirits of creatures long since passed,
Their strings still bind my heart steadfast.
Death, a rhythm, a natural refrain,
Yet its weight presses, a tender pain.

Parents’ memories like whispers fade,
Yet anticipation casts a brighter shade.
Oh, how it drives us, that hopeful spark,
Outshining the moments, igniting the dark.

A Christmas tree with ornament ghosts,
A time of mourning, yet life still boasts
Of the sun shining for the green,
For those who’ve known shadows, life can be mean.

Echoes of contentment, hollow and vast,
Remnants of strength, of a vibrant past.
A mug of cocoa with marshmallows afloat,
Warm banana bread scents, nostalgia’s note.

The hum of a motorcycle, exhaust in the air,
Fading strength that once met life’s dare.
Threads of life, both frayed and bright,
Weave through my soul, morning to night.