Questions of Living

How do we begin?
As our stuttering lives stall at the start
and our momentum leaks on the cracked flagstones
How do we choose?
Our choices crawl in the grass
but things are decided by feet walking
until our wails are cut short by the stamp
How do we live?
We don’t know how to choose, or begin.
How then, can we live?

We can live in the moment, maybe.
But living takes longer than a moment
and if the debt of many a moment piles up
in a greater accident – what then?
And our future moments are marked out
as so many digits in a bank account
How then can we live?

And living itself, what is living?
This waiting watching breathing sitting
Or the many flows of respiration
moving on through generations
not allowing us leeway to miss
these concrete hooks, and those who bait them?

Or maybe we can shore ourselves up
against the future’s distant storm
dark on the horizon, and our calm before it
By writing, thus, for futures to come
and hoping for rememberance, though not by that name
Or some strange force of propogation

Or pouring our measure into our friends –
the measure of our worldly time.
This at least is worth it.
This at least offers reply.

The question is a tricky thing
Posing ready to receive something quick
But certain questions won’t accept;
minor obsolete packets of sense
And rather burn for us to move ourselves
Out and about, to salve them.

Published by

capuchin

Send your life out in multiple directions like a galaxy shedding stars. Always come back to hope and try to thrive. All posts, (poems, stories, essays, etc.) here are composed by my hand, unless noted otherwise. Please ask if you'd like to use one.

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