What is life

ImageWhat is life.


It reads likes a question,

but it speaks like a plea.


It has prayed. Until to pray is itself,



It’s not to suppose that there is no one to hear its petition, but only at the realization that it lacks the strength to utter its plea.


The tears don’t change reality. But with each tear it morphs. Outwardly recognizable, but inwardly its beat is slow,




Hope can be seen, but




And to grasp would be agony.


So it quietly subsists.

Alive, without living.

Observing without seeing.

Hearing but not listening.

Drowning out everything but the misery it’s fond of drowning in. 


Like darts short of the target it throws out the question:


But as words formed on ones lips and never spoken. The “Why” chokes and becomes:

 “Why not.”


Yet at the apex of its misery it finds its meaning. It finds itself not in the


the searching,

the hoping.


But rather in the perplexity of simple existence. It finds that the gift is not in acquisition but,



Life is beauty, peace, love. Life is her child’s screams. Her mother’s worry. Her husband’s feel.


Life is the grass under her bare feet. It’s the knowledge that the future can be vast, uncertain, and unbearable, but that today can still be amazing.


What is life?
It’s today.

Live it 🙂

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