"Dost thou not see the joy in life?"

Dost thou not see the joy of life?
If not for love this life should be,
Still canst thou live it gracefully:
With no such woes, and no such strife.
When seeking life, heed this advice:
Reach all thy goals, but be thou free.
Forgive thyself incessantly --
Let life not be thy sacrifice.

Not one can help that life would pass,
So watch not as thy time doth go.
With peace but find thy grief replaced.
Allow thyself a time to laugh,
Permit thyself a chance to grow,
And gain thyself a cultured taste.

For thou couldst not attempt it twice:
To try again this life to lead.
Let not a cautious life it be,
But live it full -- SUCH JOY, this life!
Let not regret become thy plight,
Yet find thyself with cares turned free,
That thou couldst live life hopefully,
Not grieve it through, thine heart contrite.

Give to those who can’t give back,
Teach to those who cannot know,
Applaud the first and love the last,
And voyage where thine heart would go.
Let not this troubled life but pass.
Reach for thy dreams!
                            And watch them grow…

"Kindness is but a form of happiness..."

Kindness is but a form of happiness,
Found in the soul.

It is not an attempt at pleasantness,
But rather a profound peace from within.

It cannot be created
And it cannot be destroyed,
Nor does it borrow need to be.

Seek not its subtle nature within yourself,
As it cannot be compelled.
Only let it be what it is,
And let it show itself to those you care about.

It is its own master,
And through its subtle, selfless nature,
It will leave its unmistakable mark on your soul.

Life's Stubborn Progression

The radio tower blinks off and on.
        Life progresses.
    Life goes on.

Problems arise,
         Life goes on.

It doesn’t wait...
       It doesn’t ask your permission...
    It heads forward with full disregard.

Life doesn’t give you time to deal with its burdens,
        Nor does it give you time to figure them out.
      Life is, and does…
               And does as it pleases.

And when you’ve figured all this out --
         When you’ve righted yourself --
      It will continue to do the same.
                
And as the radio tower blinks off and on,
      So will life progress.
             So will life go on.
            

This Concession

Weariness has taken me.
   So long did I fight against it with vigor and passion,
       But no longer do I see the need to resist.

If none other shall try,
       Why shall I?

Everywhere my hopeful eye has looked,
       I have seen but an unbound potential.
   Everyone whom my hopeful eye has looked upon
           Has cast down any words of truth or confidence.

If they need not to hear it,
      Then perhaps I should let them find their own way.
   They live their lives in the places where they choose to stand,
            And they ask why they have been bound there.
        Yet, if one was to tell them the binding was their own,
     They would not accept, and would not step out.  

How many times can one such as I be scoffed at
         Before he sees his counsel is not needed?

Such a bleak world that would not stand up for itself.
            Such a gloomy goal that would not fight for its own achievement.
      For shame.

They said, “why try?”
   They said, “failure is inevitable.”

The truth in their statements only springs
      From their ability to say them,
    And their acceptance of them as truisms.

One cannot surpass his own lackluster ambition.
     And if such a one has set his beliefs on a pessimistic future,
            What can be done?

So I assent, “why try?”
        Why try to convince somebody whose
     Beliefs are set that they are wrong?

I am weary of this fight.
        I am tired of running and of battle.
    I concede my task.

Go home, young optimist,
        Your counsel is not wanted here.  

This Mind's Mischief

So tired that I can’t even sleep…
    So thoughtful, I can’t even think
           -- My thoughts swirling and twirling and dead.
      Yet tired.
            So, so tired.

But sleep is elusive…
          And wiley.

And following its lead,
      My thoughts keep just past
    The bounds of my control…
            Elusive…
                   And wiley.

These fingertips flow through
       The ribbons of thought
    That lag behind, just enough
              To keep me informed
           Of their unpermitted intentions –
         Unrelenting and unforgiving.

And they keep me tired –
      Confused, lost, and tired –
    While they tend to their
           Mischievous, carefree goals.
    - end -

        - April 15, 2006