How can you know
what she has seen
what he has felt
what I have ached for
when you've never held
In your palms
the stories and the nightmares
we have faced.
How can you know triumph
when the finish line
is merely on the page,
a story from another time?
We were not there.
We did not touch or see or feel or smell.
We did not worship or grieve,
we did not strive for more.
So how can we know
this life from the last,
without ever sipping
from a dangerous past?