Some days I wake
with a crushing doubt
with a throat
full of tears
with my mouth
in a pout
with the weight
of my age
with the loss
of life’s meaning
with my thoughts
full of fears
that I’ve simply
been being
with questions
of purpose
and answers elusive
soon lost in my shadows
downcast and reclusive
an ego so fragile
so blind to the truth
that finding life’s meaning
is a fruitless pursuit
it’s living each day
the best that I can
it’s patience
compassion
and lending a hand
it’s not in what greatness
I hoped to achieve
it’s not in some mark
I was hoping to leave
it’s simply in loving
in trying to be good
in leaving things better
in knowing I should
It’s lifting myself
from the dregs and the doldrums
and reminding myself
of all I’m beholden
It’s finding the strength
when choked by self-doubt
to rise to the challenge
of casting gloom out
to remember I’m loved
to remember I am
to attend good and sad days
and meaning be damned
Dog-eared Stories by anne celano frohna 