There is not a thing in this life, that can be held onto;
Books, and their knowledge, do not follow us into the grave,
Nor the weight of a lover’s hand on the hip,
The warm mist of steamy tea coating the upper lip,
The richness of chocolate marvels melting, blooming,
flooding.
There is not a thing that is permanent;
Stars burn out,
Day turns to night,
Cold slips into warmth.
Do not fret for a thing that will make no sense to dead
lips;
Do not mourn for a thing that will not light up dead eyes;
Do not wear anger, or pride, or hurt like a new funeral suit–
The dirt is full of decaying threads.
Sit still, and feel the beat of your heart in your chest,
Run wild, and forego the weight of regret,
Linger, and taste the sweetness of breath,
Soar, and enjoy the thrill of ‘trivial’ perils–
But do not, in the fullness of living,
The great pleasure of feeling,
The mad pace of achieving,
Forget
That none of it will go to the ground, or the flame,
or the waters with you.
Hold…but do not hold.
K.N.O.W. Sabbath, August 26th, 2016. 01.16 a.m.
