Days
By Shloime Richler
Days,
Isn’t that what our life is?
Just a bunch of days
Day stacked one after one.
We want to get it right
The day
How we want the perfect day
A day to hold up to say this is who is me.
The day is the same
The same hour
Same morning. Same night
That same afternoon asking why you let yourself be.
Though you will get lucky once
And I hope maybe twice
to get a day to say
there is more than just I.
That day. That moment. A breath of fresh air.
Maybe a day of birth or a day of death.
Maybe a day of love or day of pain.
A moment of beauty. A moment of awe.
A moment on the mountain.
A moment at sea.
A moment at war.
The moment when life stands up for itself
not as moment but idea
As a concentrated dose of life
As a song. A dance. A story. A hum.
