The Reasons

It's not for the fantasy
that at the table of martyrs,
someone will acknowledge,
that I had it harder.

It's not for the telling,
not for the proof.
Not for the hope someone gets it
when I'm through.

It's not for the showing,
not for the win.
Not for the knowing
I was right in the end.

It's not to get back
what's already gone.
What never happened, never was,
so you have to move on.

And moving on
from the trappings of man,
extending my senses
as far as I can,

I'm able to find
my way off the floor,
seeing again
what all of it's for.

It's for the music
of a soft summer rain,
dancing on the lake,
a growing refrain.

It's for the cold touch
of a high mountain breeze,
chilling my neck
and gripping my knees.

It's for getting to witness
more little feet,
absorbing their smiles,
cradling defeat.

It's for the memory
of all that has been,
then grabbing the present
and breathing it in.

And until the last breath,
without any fear,
sinking my teeth
into all that is here.

— ❧ —

Poetry Corner

This poem came out of some dark days, when my health was really failing me. As I started to see some light, I initially wanted to declare victory over the doctors who couldn’t help me—but then I realized none of that mattered.

What mattered was what had kept me going through the days when there was little light.

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