A Short Poem

Drifting, floating, flying, leaping,
My feet move across the Earth.
Every day different, time being measured,
By the passing sun in the sky.

But what is time anyway, and why pay attention, and why use it to measure our lives?

How can time be wasted when each passing moment will never again pass by?

Tripping, falling, crashing, hurting,
I catch myself down on my knees.
Feeling fatigued by the struggle of failure
I break open at the center of my being.

What are these feelings, the ones that confuse me, and spin me around like a top?

And is it important to define emotions that wash over and sometimes don’t stop?

Bravely, gently, excitedly, strongly,
My feet dance once again on the Earth.
Picking up pace they take me to places
I’ve never had the courage to be.

It’s getting up running, and tripping, and falling, that teaches us how to live.
Exploring the darkness, the brightness, the greyness, and everything in between.

Life needn’t be measured by days or by hours, or even be measured at all.
Life is living right here in this moment, no matter the way it may fall.

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