This is a poem I wrote a few years ago. Every so often something reminds me of it and I drag it out and look at it again. Yesterday's blog about Thoreau made it come to mind. Hopefully it reminds you our time is finite and life should be savored not just muddled through. Try to find a happy medium between living each day like it is your last and planning for your future, neither is a guarantee. PEACE and God Bless!
Fools’ Luxury
Three minutes before heading home,
Striding purposely,
Laying out the evening at hand,
I passed a quiet man, gray and lined
Silently sweeping piles of dust and off-handed debris
From ancient tiles pooled with afternoon sun.
Wish it was Friday –
I answered his casual query
Why, he said – giving me internal pause –
Why would you wish days of your life away?
Too busy to stop, I flippantly shrugged
And carried on
But his simple wisdom rippled inside
Reverberating against my arrogance of immortality.
Why were these Wednesday hours less precious?
Where was my Thursday guarantee?
In an epiphany flash I wondered
How long I’d been always looking to the next finish line –
Friday June next Christmas –
How long ignoring my life,
Continuously waiting to live it,
Procrastinated dreams growing dimmer,
Days I’d let fall into dilapidation
Instead of carefully constructing each minute.
Time is fools’ luxury.
Those with no more would chide, if they could,
Would remind that Thoreau at his pond had it right.
Too many meet death without knowing life
Failing to embrace its falling seconds.
So this Wednesday I sit
And soak in cut grass and dampened dirt
Shivering in Winter’s dying wind
And try to teach myself
To walk the tightrope
Between looking toward tomorrow
While remembering to see today.
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