With each poem I write
I know that one day I will die more easily,
Having put in words what is found within my heart.
These days, few can say what it means
To be fully human— to give definition
When we cannot know what consciousness means,
Where mind and body intersect with memory and soul.
So I cannot give you more clear answer
Than to say I am a seeker,
In search of myself as much
As I study books, gaze in wonder at the stars,
Contemplate the mystery of the number three.
Perhaps I am not more or less ignorant than others,
Though slowly as I advance through years
I’ve begun to listen to whispers of my blood.
My life has not been sweet or easy;
No claim of innocence or huge confession of guilt.
Like most of those who have worked hard to stop
Deceiving themselves, I seek clarity
That is learned within humility.
I spend lonely hours found in silent nights
Tasting both of confusion and delight.
Each day I pray. Each day I laugh and cry
At the pain and absurdity of the times in which we live.
With luck, I occasionally take a few steps on the road
Leading toward deeper sense of self.
Some days, the best I find is an awkward road
Or worse, a place within dark woods
Where trees converge, revealing only trace of a trail.
There are times I sort out
Distant memories almost hidden,
Sorting through broken eggshells of my past,
Wade through primordial slime where
Frogs and salamanders are at home.
Other days I soar with eagles through shimmering air.
All enter and exit through the same doors of birth and death.
The noble question is where within our depths
We find our uncertain destiny, begin to understand ourselves,
Find others who walk a common path, sharing common goals
So that we discover greater compassion and love.
We live each day only once, and then never again.
Only here, within the hours of each day
Can we find what is most significant and sacred.