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For Keeps

Why did I not grab every moment

and make it sing,

look into people’s faces and find stories there

to take me into my old age.

 

We don’t take the time,

Do we?

Blithely we pass unexplored roads,

agonizing instead

about the trappings of our lives,

the matched sets of things.

 

What will we leave?

Fragments of ourselves,

not the real thing:

The thing underneath it all

that makes our hearts beat,

gives breath to our dearest,

our sweetest selves.

 

That —

that which is

the best of us,

lies dormant somehow,

becoming irrevocably lost

in our blind rush toward

the rest.

 

Why did I not grab every moment

and make it sing?

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Writer and Poet

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Tricia McCallum

Always be a poet. Even in prose.
Charles Baudelaire.

In essence I am a storyteller who writes poems. Put simply, I write the poems I want to read.[…]

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Tricia McCallum

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Thanks for sharing

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