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.


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