Live For Life
by Odin Roark

Are those knowing
not of avarice beneath the cloth,
rather exposing elements innate,
allowing light of trajectories bound
to see Isness of path?

Wander freely as
fluff from cottonwood,
floating warily,
waiting to cling to death.

Drink little of glory,
but openly of trials,
knowing each moment
upon the desert enforces
gratitude for small rewards

Embrace verdicts
as always a quenching
of one’s own creation,
Some for learning,
others sans avoidance.

Wondrous,
these feathered creatures that may be
scaled antiquities that swim,
cells that clamor,
whether confined in Petri Dish,
or protective mother’s pouch.

Resolve
to be not victim
or bearer of revengeful sward.
Quash not the thunder,
or seek shelter from rains.
(Note liquid knows forward
as flowers know up,
just as unborn know beyond.)
but be a willing adventurer and…
sufferer.

Yes…

We are here.
Man either accepting the enclosure
of infinity’s spec-like dust of humanity,
or begrudging one’s eternal reincarnation circle.

To be or not to be,
as the Bard always knew,
is but nature’s womb of nurture,
should it not be rejected.

We all dreams of breath
‘till birth-time screeches echoes,
announcing exits of all.

One has to wonder,
isn’t it time to
live for life?