Poem: Life Itself

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Life Itself

Allow me to, for just a while, sit.
Let the sun warm my blood.

I am content in the silence.
In the moment.

I have spent enough of my days
forecasting futures that never were.

It’s a fool’s game, a thief of moments,
a taker of love and tender touches,
and nothing good has come of it.

But this, savoring the sun on an autumn day,
is life itself,

About this poem

I am a very different animal from what I was fifteen years ago. I live far more in the moment, and it is a much more peaceful, happy place to be.

The picture was taken at Olana, the home of Frederick Church, one of the Hudson River painters of the late 1800’s.

Tom

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