It is not in the pursuit,
nor in the active participation that happiness is found.
It is a fleeting sunbird’s collection of nectar,
and the realization, thus, that the load you bear need not be so heavy.

That the wind can carry more in your name,
and the soil can anchor your feet.
You need not live in the perceived world—
but breathe in the world you are in.

'Tis not for clear vindication,
nor some charitable façade I walk this road.
'Tis only that I found myself here—
dwelling, seemingly lost,
when the path ahead was not clear enough to see.

I know not if my aching body will make it.
I know not if it matters that it does.
I know only I search for peace—
a brief respite—
for it is not searching for me.

Lowering the bucket into the small, unkept well
that is my heart—
beneath the dark, untamed waters,
one might find my eyes as they once were:
an innocent nakedness.

One might also find the stillborn and lifeless—
a victim of the ruthless continuation of time.

'Tis not for clear vindication,
nor some charitable façade I walk this road.
I walk because I must—
and that is all I know.