Your feeling flickers
from this to that,
hopeless and uptight,
to everything’s going to be alright.
like ocean currents,
cycling tepid to frigid,
caught in the caprice of shifting mood,
you paddle helpless and
at the whim
of their discomforting liberties.
along with your stomach for living,
in the upswell and downdraft of sea change.
Seeking steadiness from the very place
where it is not on offer.
And never will be.
Vicissitude is the only constancy,
rocking you to the rhythm of your worries.
When you collect yourself long enough
to be still for a breath,
you might catch the irony …
that you were never meant to master the game of life.
To survive is enough.
Nothing more is asked.
Merely, that you dance the script
choreographed long before your birth,
stepping into a future
the dawn of time.
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