How much do we really know
beyond the obvious facts
of living from day to day
and grabbing hold of whatever
delight or distraction pass by?
Oh, how often my grasp slipped
or I stumbled at the last moment,
and I saw what I longed for vanish?
Perhaps my body begins to accept
its aging, and makes a truce with Time.
Or perhaps my heart has grown
weary of carrying the burden
of desire, and seeks rest
over excitation, remembrance
over experience, a simple gift
over a large treasure. There will
still be thresholds to cross,
still be new knowledge to transform
into the stuff of self. The portrait,
despite years of work, is still being painted.
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