(Wheeling, WV, US – Jan 2nd 2014)
(Just so you know I still write poems little bro)
There is always tomorrow… (Or is it?)
There is always enough time, in our little finite lives of
infinites
To love a bit more
To feel a little more
To laugh once more
To cry again
(Or can we?)
All around us are miracles.
The snow vastly cleanses the mountains high and the river
low,
(the shaken branches, the shivered bears, the swimming
fishes, and the broken souls)
The sunlight falls over the shades of turquoise in the
ocean,
(and illuminates all other colors that you and I both once
loved)
The lingering sound of the rain deafens the cries of the
wolves,
(of the young mothers who lose their babies, of the fallen
dying deer on the side walk)
The quiet scent of spring awakens in each cherry blossoms,
wild dandelions,
(each of the gentle strands in your hair, the lasting touch
of your fingers the morning of goodbyes)
That gaze in your eyes
is the miracle of life itself,
(that made me fall in love and broke my heart)
all condensed in exact one moment.
Why wait my darlings,
when all surround us are miracles?
To love a bit more
To feel a little more
To laugh once more
To cry again
(Shall we?)
There maybe tomorrow
(that I really don’t know. I was once sure, but I am no
longer)
There is today
Life is both infinite and finite
Life is both fragile and everlasting
(Life is kind of like you and I,
star-crossed yet ever-loving.
Or was it just me, alone in all this duality?)
Tomorrow. Today.
