Last Chance Ashes

 
The ashes of a few last chances are now cold,
like all your tomorrows. I blow them off my palm.
I had an open hand, ready to pull you up - and I have -
but you saw a footstool and stepped... then misstepped.


You tripped over a myriad lies and excuses you laid
at your own feet, not mine. My hand is now closed.
The ashes of a few last chances are lost in the wind,
like all your tomorrows. May you reap all you've sown.