we all of us
have a small array
of days
(how small, how)
some much more so
than others
and were we/I able
(un-blinded by-the-by)
to see them stretch
before/behind
we would be numbed
(benumbed) to find
nothing
stretching for ever
(never, but nevermind)
once we awake
(we still sleepers)
from our sleeping days
we can but
intoxicate ourselves
with every blessed breath
(still breathing, still unstill)
each day, that small array,
a sharp stab
of/into joy
(a stark contrast)
to the blurred edges
of the days before
when we knew/know
nothing more
of forever than
the myth forever
(how small, how)
the array
of our/my days
© Sarah Whiteley
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Our array of days is indeed limited…very fine poem on the brevity of life.
Yes indeed. And thank you!
some days do feel this way. keep on
Well I kind of meant this one to be a positive thing – a very necessary shifting of perspective when faced with the truth of mortality – an appreciation of the days we are given, really, as the gifts they truly are. I was in a space of great exhilaration when writing this one – so blessed to have what I do have and able to see the transience of my life as a catalyst to greater appreciation. Next time, I’ll lift the mood a bit and introduce the tap-dancing penguins so as to avoid confusion. 🙂