How many times do we enjoy traffic? Or frustration? Or anger? Or even happiness?
In this life of one hundred sixty-six thousand and four hundred and forty hours
Or maybe more, I don’t remember the best one hour of my life, not one that empowers.
I cannot look up at something and say this was the best minute
If we count sixty seconds, how long is one minute?
We might think it’s hardly any time
We say, one minute, is the bit of any time.
But how many of us can look behind and say these were the best days of my life
We all remember the sad, bad; the sorrow, borrow; the days we cried or with a strife.
But how many days out of so many we’ve lived we count as a blessing
How many days would you count without guessing?
Honestly, I had to think and I did have a few days in mind.
But a few or little days out of so many wasn’t the right kind.
I mean, is this even worth living my life
Where happiness is just a come and go, it’s not a rife.
Then I decided to feel this very moment
Whether I’m dancing for an audience or facing an opponent.
I won’t let this moment go
While I’m writing this poem and letting me grow.
I won’t rush to another destination
I will make this very moment my station.
Life is here and now
Even if it’s frustrating somehow.
I’ll be curios about why frustration
I’ll live my every single minute until death and cremation.