Poetry

You see, I want a lot.
Maybe I want it all:
the darkness of each endless fall,
the shimmering light of each ascent.

So many are alive who don't seem to care.
Casual, easy, they move in the world
as though untouched.

But you take pleasure in the faces
of those who know they thirst.
You cherish those
who grip you for survival.

You are not dead yet, it's not too

Tilicho Lake by David Whyte

In this high place

it is as simple as this,

Leave everything you know behind.

Step toward the cold surface,

say the old prayer of rough love

and open both arms.

Those who come with empty hands

will stare into the lake astonished,

there, in the cold light

reflecting pure snow,

the true shape of your own face.

“The most regretful people on earth are those who felt the call to creative work, who felt their own creative power restive and uprising, and gave to it neither power nor time.”

—Mary Oliver

I’m not giving up, not now, not ever.

No matter what the world throws my way, I'll fight its in my soul.

When no one else believes, I’ll fight and fight

When it feels like there’s nothing left in the tank, I’ll dig deeper than the rest.

I won’t give up, not now, not ever.

So, world, look out

I’m coming back stronger, tougher, and better than ever.

Could rules of poetry inform paragraphs?

"Listen. Are you breathing just a little and calling it a life?"

— Mary Oliver

The Gardener”

Have I lived enough?

Have I loved enough?

Have I considered Right Action enough, have I come to any conclusions?

Have I experienced happiness with sufficient gratitude?

Have I endured loneliness with grace? I say this, or perhaps I’m just thinking it.

Actually, I probably think too much

. Then I step out into the garden, where the garde

The End and the Beginning

By Wisława Szymborska

After every war

someone has to clean up.

Things won’t

straighten themselves up, after all.

Someone has to push the rubble

to the side of the road,

so the corpse-filled wagons

can pass.

Someone has to get mired

in scum and ashes,

sofa springs,

splintered glass,

and bloody rags.

Someone has to drag in a girder

to prop