Perhaps the problem is we live as though we have an eternity to fall in love, to have everything we want,
to be able to fix all the problems we ignore and to apologize to those we hurt.  We live as though we are more than stellar fragments afloat in the immensity of space and time.
The problem is that we continue living this way until the last insignificant second when we finally hear the chimes of the cosmic harmonies calling us back home and then, we will be nothing but a wisp of nebulosity from gas and dust from whence we came,
scattered through space unfettered by ordinary human limitations.

How will you spend your brief moments here on earth?
How much will you love?
How much will you give?
How will you be remembered?

We were poets,
Once,
Hearts etched upon our sleeve
The lords of our intent,
Words bloomed for all to see.
Each branch of thought considered,
Chiseled,
Whittled to express.
Carving the forest in our likeness
We paved the landscape with our breath.
Woods would sway in idle days
Sunkissed glades lay bathed in gold.
Nights waylaid by dancing maids
Cheap ale and tales of old.
Fires burn, flames unfold.
Though
Embers remember
Tender clutch of the cold.
We tend to forget the bargained,
The sold.
Up rivers and creeks,
Paddles, disowned by the meek,
Cast away to distant shores.  
Glades decay,
Fade to grey.

We become poets once more.