This to That

Your feeling flickers

from this to that,

hopeless and uptight,

to everything’s going to be alright.

Emotional flux

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.

Losing equilibrium,

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.

Life …

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

written since

the dawn of time.