Poetry
The only time it’s better to give up
Joy
It is not found in our pursuing
neither in our highest highs
nor in the midst of our dreams in proving
We are not calamitous beings
dangled between the rocks
and the places in which we have no meanings
We are placed precisely in our proximities
precisely as we aught to be
Our progress not measured in jubilation’s
or how much we’ve earned in interest
We manhandle it further from our grasp
The more fervently we clutch and grasp for it
The greater measure by which we lust for it
is paralleled in exactly how distant it remains
We are most fortuitous beings
handed the deepest luck
as we need just receive what we have been agreed
We need not wrestle, nor strive
Our lot placed not in hopes nor dreams
We need not raise prayers
nor bury ourselves in sackcloth and ashes
