If I were a poet,
I'd write words of wisdom and insight

In places of least convenience
In places one wouldn't expect,
Because when searching for enlightenment
There's no chance of finding it

Instead,
I'd write love stories and life lessons
On stained walls,
Crumbling bricks,
The corners of sidewalks

Traps laid for the unprepared
Traps laid to be stumbled upon
Unexpectedly and suddenly,
Perfectly and when needed most


However, I am no poet and know nothing of these things,
Nothing but wisdoms and insights stumbled upon past.

You know you're alive when you're listening
When you're hearing the world
speaking to you
Through poetry or music or rushing water
or silence

You know you're alive when you can feel the air
vibrating in your bones
through your flesh
into your soul
profound

You know you're alive when you're holding someone,
holding a life, young or old,
and you feel a connection like fire
unbreakable, between spirits
like a chain.

You know you're alive
when you see something beautiful
and stop.

Just to look.

Just to feel it.

Just to live.

It's hard to adjust,
I know.

The twists and turns
Collisions;
They're all abrupt
As everything is.

Nothing slows
Nobody dies
Just shifts
Deviates and changes
In fluctuations.

It's hard to adjust,
I know.