about the temporary stasis we call life
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I am but a flower,
Found in the light of the sun,
Swaying beneath your feet,
Growing in the ground on which you run.
I am but a moment,
Appearing in a season;
However this so,
Herald the majesty of the minute,
The sweetness of the un-lasting second,
The not-gentle rage of the light once lit;
Look not and worry not of the quick end.
Let this be an ode to all that exist,
but
I knew that the work was honest so
I stayed
until the winter equinox turned the pads of my fingertips
raw.
and
bloody.
during my time in Monte Del Diablo.
