Essence of Life

Does it ever bother you how we dribble each day along The rugged pathways of this wretched earth? We wake up each morning and gather our scattered selves. We casually debate and agree to form these selves into some Loose confederation to face the dawn in a concerted formation Not knowing that life has something better for us And not what we believe to be true. Left in this gale, we must bore a tunnel of existence, losing our Limbs one by one, gaining fresh courage each passing moment. Nothing happens by way of transformation except the bitter Stubs of life, The stint of cold remembrance of a lost dry love. Slowly we believe we are gentiles Laboring on what is for the chosen. So we contend ourselves with being junks. Mere chunks of clay left to weather the wrath of time. Dusk closes upon us, Cooling down all the frustrations - a tactical retreat I suppose – So the selves say for tomorrow in the down wind, Their stub is sharper than the stalactite ends down the reef. Yet slowly these edges grow blunt, voices grow sweeter, Fog unblankets the sun, legs grow smoother and slowly, I think about how marvelously she has changed the whole meaning of my existence. The whole meaning of my essence.