Most mornings, I begin with poetry, from an anthology, "A Poem a Day" - I've used this book since 2002, so I've read many of these poems before, if I get to it, which I do, most mornings, though there have been years in between when the book was on the bottom of a book pile, so no poems read, other than other poems and other books. With little margin notes, and smiley faces, or frowning.
Anyway, the upshot of this little note is this: the world is full of good and creative folk who sought, through poetry, to make sense of life, to offer good counsel, or complaint - to squeeze the fruit for all its worth - to get the last drop of bitterness or sweetness outta it ... to laugh and cry and moan and groan, or something like that.
Furthermore, many of them are unknown to me, so a quick tour of Wiki, and there they are - someone has written a note about them, maybe a short notice, or pages and pages ...
I think of me - why not?
And, you, too ... of course.
Laboring away ... we build our sand castles ... we do this instinctively ... it's in our DNA ... a castle that welcomes and provides, celebrates and stands strong ... in time, every castle is washed away ... but the gift remains ... something good, wise, decent, provocative, inventive, conciliatory, wise, or not, has been given, and that which is given, for the sake of life, is added to the energy of the universe - it is not lost, but incorporated, into the stars.
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