Fate

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Is it my fate to be sititng in bed at 10:39 pm
trying to push out one-more-poem?

they can’t be pushed
you know
only loving called from the caves that they hide in
the crevices within your heart

coaxed, called, soothed, spoiled,
delighted into the light

and is it my fate to be 27 years old
alone on an adventure towards meaningful living
trying to keep my cool
and live freely
joyfully
trying to live the life of a poem freed from its crevasse?

And what if my life was a poem
and I didn’t know what was coming around the corner until I got there

what if listening, not planning was my work?
and opening not limiting was my life?
and loving not living was my home?

 

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