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Poetry: What Lives in Us



I can hear everything tonight.

I wish I could turn it down. And walk on that road. The one with the disappearing lines and faded gray cracks.

I know where it leads. I know where it goes.

A place that is quiet. And breathes courage. That place of trees with scarred bark and a gentle sun.

I used to live there. Next to that quiet pond. Where there was a plastic bridge white and cracked. I played on.

The colors aren't as vibrant as I remembered it. Each year they burn away.

Turn into something different. Something changed.

I think maybe it's the wind. The directions it chooses to wander.

We all possess it.

The wind. The willows. The memories.

We all know what lives in us. Moves through. And around.

We all know:

Every life holds meaning.

At least I do.

Because I have to.

Because I have to believe it exists in me.

And because I have to believe it exists in you.

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