We are but spools of thread
Of varying lengths,
Each our own color and heft,
Yet anchored to the yarn
We raveled from.

Our bobbin unwinds
As the path we walk
Lays down our filaments,
Winding around the others’,
Weaving the fabric of our lives.

Until one day
Our cylinder falls
From the canvas of our souls,
And we are left to ask
Have our actions sewn beauty?

I thought “carpe diem” meant
Seize the day
And wrest the world
To my whim
My will,
And my way.

Yet time
And time
And time again, 
I was blown back.

Now I know “carpe diem” means
Seize the day 
And hold on.
Lean my mind, 
And my soul
Into the world.

So like a hang-glider,
I soar
Or dive
As the world’s wind blows.

I think about I a lot.
I should…
I have…
I want…

I think about them a lot
They should…
They have…
I want…

You think about them a lot.
They need..
You should…
You give…

I want what you have.

Each reference point,
from different angles,
improves our understanding
of the terrain.

I know this.
I understand this.

Yet when it comes to my soul,
I discard your perspective,
and your advice,

For surely
my scope alone
can understand the world.

Each day I sit,
And often,
In a moving experience,
I become enlightened.

Then,
I wipe myself
And think:
I should really meditate.