Will I be grateful for my life when it is over?
or, will I die wanting more?
I hope not.
Time, and time, and more time, to what end?
I am learning to be grateful for temporary things
love, kinship, a smile, eyes that truly see.
I look at the trees,
I doubt they complain about the years they don’t have.
It seems enough to stretch their branches toward the sun,
to witness thunder and soak up fresh drops of rain,
to stand tall without demanding eternity.
Each little thing is more than enough on it’s own.
Why does humanity insist on living forever?
I admire the beauty and strength of the trees,
endlessly renewing, shedding the old and moving on.
It is the way of the universe.
We live, we grow old, we die,
maybe we change form and shape and live again,
somehow or another.
It doesn’t matter
one life is magical enough,
if I don’t waste it living in desperation and fear.
(c) 2020 BGeiger