A Prayer For The Living
A poem
A lot like death, we don’t choose life, but in living we choose our dying, and in loving is written our choice.
A flickering swift doesn’t think to fall, or ever of no longer flying; unlike we, forever dying.
And therein lies our greatest truth, to escape from the strictures of script, to accept control, surrender, forget to live.
Arranging one’s end is the greatest self-love; I can think of nothing more intimate; to plan the ways a cold relief from being.
Long ago you decided to live and to keep deciding to live, and there’s nothing to say, no telling the change, and all that remains is I love you.
