We all breathe the same
In whatever way we choose
Dancing to the beats
Of drummers, different in most cases
But breathe just the same

Sometimes we talk
Different mouths, different voices
Still it can ring badly on another’s ears
Complaining, questioning, whining
When all we want is to be understood

Often we fall, hard to the ground
Hardly at all to those passing by
Staring at this writhing body
On the sidewalk of broken dreams
Just waiting to be kicked once more

At times we love
Perhaps too much it seems
Different hearts, different beats, different drummers (again)
Brandishing hope as that marching band
With the new drum major breaks our will

Then we die
Not unlike other’s before us
Lying in a wooden box
Mourners stare exhaling sadly or happily
As they still breathe…in whatever way they choose