Powerful expectation that I will survive
And discover my own life defeats urgency
In the consummate moment. What else can I do
To screw up or be helpful? The world I once knew
Ever changes to something unexpectedly.
Haven’t I learned a thing about being alive?
Well, stop bitching and moaning. The least I can do
In a world ripe with wonder is stop pretending
That I must become fearful for the next decade
Of the ones far behind me. What I wouldn’t trade
For the life of another. To nothing I cling
But a cloud of creation, quite absent of clue.
My illness, though life threatening, keeps me in touch
With the tough karmic lessons of lives eternal.
Whatever there is coming that I must go through
May I learn in the long run what best I should do.
It may be simply by my keeping this journal
That I may accidentally accomplish much.
All I can do is want for good things to occur
And expect that they’ll happen. My life and this world
Are imperfect perceptions of the most ideal.
The remorse in my heart for past actions reveal
That I am sorely human. Consciousness is swirled
In all matter of circumstance life wants to stir.