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veiled behind the barbs of acacia
the river bathes in the lazy sun

she's a thousand years or more
but knocks my heart's door
like a flirtatious teen

come deflower me
bare me in your poetry
wear me on your skin


soon she would be lost to the sky
leaving on the banks echoes of her lust

i pause for a piece of her
before my dream turns to dust!
a river (my cover photo)
over death we ponder too much
or none at all
but not upon the landmark most difficult to touch

living life well.

am i living my life well?

no, money can't help achieve
nor a good career of success

you know it too well not to believe
they do any better than robbing happiness.

then is it a nice wife and a loving family
kids to hug, comfort you generously?

no, not really, they still aren't enough to ensure
fullness of life as may only briefly endure.

then what is it that makes life lived well

a good sleep to tide the night
a roof over to dwell?

doing just what you like or minding the other's wish
let your desires run wild or hold them under leash?

to me it's a mystery getting answer to which I fail
the parameters of a life, having lived thoroughly well.

but over time I've realized, deep in, its echoes ring,

living life well has a lot to do
with being contented with smallest thing.
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