Time. Friendship. Love. Life. What does it all mean?
Who knows? We’re winging it—the drunk, the fool,
The mother who still loves men like a teen,
And every teacher that you’ll have in school.
None of us know the answer, so go make
An answer of your own, and try to feel
The timeless in each moment, try to breakLife open to find out what makes it real.
That “what” is us. The days are ours to fill.
And even if we own what time has sent us,
Years from now, all that we’ll remember will
Be one-half trivial, one-half momentous.
That’s what life is: moments that pain and please you
And let you go the moment that they seize you.
Copyright 2014 Matthew J Wells