We contain our ages
In our bodies,
And our histories
In our hearts.
I have loved
And I have lost,
I have achieved
And I have ached.
My pen acts as vision –
Jokes and journal entries,
A remedy for social ills,
A scheme to believe what I see as real.
I have witnessed want
And wished for more wishes,
Some of them granted on bridges
Just before the temporal fall.
I have failed
And I will surely fail again,
Yet I welcome the miss
And the memory of it.
Like Bob Dylan,
Whom I have seen
With my eyes,
I contain multitudes.
Beauty looks upon me
Like how I behold it
Allows it to exist
In the first place.
But beauty allows me to exist,
Just as death allows me to live,
And forgiveness keeps
Reminding me to enjoy the regrets.
I have held hope in my hands,
Like waiting water,
Tangible and wet,
Vital and yet always evaporating.
I remember Existence,
By all the needs and notions,
Evident by what I feel with my eyes
And see with the proof put down by my hands.
Life has seen me Look back at it,
So visible is the scent
Of life created,
I can catch it and keep it even when it leaves.