“A poem is the very image of life expressed in its eternal truth.”
Percy Bysshe Shelley

Wednesday, April 29, 2015

What's It All About?


Please don't look to me.
I am humbled by my dearth
of true certainty.

While we reside here,
we excel, fail, and just are.
We may find love's source.

In our finite time,
all seems really important.
Precious few things are.


xaidw B said...

My son'd death truly brought me to the finite place of understanding of which you speak. It also confirmed that I know nothing. Perhaps this knowledge is what is meant by just "to be". I don't know and it no longer matters.Paz

Muffie said...

Though our themes are a bit different today, we both agree that this is our life now, and we fill it the best we can.

Karen said...

For me, love and family are precious, the rest...doesn't mean much.

Judy at Peace Be With You said...

Hilda, it is when one is brought down to one's knees by life's biggest challenges that one acquires the humility of realizing just how little one does know.

Muff, finding good in the life I have is my daily objective.

Karen, love and family probably top most people's list.