Today is the day.
I am a mayfly.
I have no memories of growing up,
and no expectations of growing old.
I have learned nothing.

Today is my day.
I will not sit by.
Swiftly I live, there is no slowing up,
and no time for my feelings going cold.
I will be something.

Today is the day.
I’ll reach for the sky.
Driven only by instinct flowing up,
to unknown destiny of glowing gold.
I am everything.

Today is the day.
I will live and die.
I’ll have seized the day just by showing up,
ignoring fear to live by knowing bold.
I won’t be nothing.

Some people speak of living for the moment.
Having "carpe diem" as their slogan.
Their decree to want to take life day by day.
Hoping fate will lead the way, and things will always be okay.
Taking it easy; Life is a holiday to be enjoyed and  celebrated the right way.

Others say this is a hippie cliche.
That living day to day isn't living, its surviving.
It's not thriving, to truely live means striving.
Its realizing what you want most and trying.
About devising a plan to achieve all you aspire.
Gain the skills and knowledge you require.
To go higher, elevate and inspire, be someone others admire.
Stand with the fruits of labor in your hand that you have acquired and be proud for getting that which you desire.

Two ways to look at life I guess.
Value one view doesn't make the other less.
Assess what's important to you; pave your own road to success.
Some play the fame of life as checkers; others as chess.

The bird songs ring out harmonious
Their calls for some wanton *******,
The best type.
Reciprocated across the landscape
Which is not the right word
There’s more sea here than land.
an orange hangs low in the lonely sky
Perfectly ripe,
Dripping wet with honeyed shades of gold,
Coating palm trees and my knees.
Also my cigarette box and my coffee mug. A slow swell pitching and yawing,  
a side to side appreciated only by those trying to sleep.
A breeze lazier than I licks my cheeks and fondles my thighs.
It’s time, to go.

Run
                                                             ­                                          we can't fly
Speak
                                                       ­                                 we can't be invisible
Write
                                                 ­                                   we can't stop thinking
Do it.
                                                                ­               we don't live for eternity.

Another Sunday morning
Crouched in the beam of headlights
Steam coming off coffee and breath
Fumbling to pin race bib to pants

A romance
Of sorts; this dance I’m addicted to
Those magic numbers: 5k, 13.1, and
The boss lady: 26.2 (I’m coming after you)
But why? Friends ask
You’re crazy they say on posts
Of me on each early Sunday

I say nothing back, but heart the comment
I can’t explain what the rhythmic pound; the sound
of New Balanced footstrike does
For the broken part of me
How the week’s aggression
That needs suppressing is sweated out
And gathered up in Nike’s moisture-wicking fabric

How weaving through the crowd of neophytes
Wearing today’s race shirt, alternately
Sprinting then walking

And the kids, eager, then over it
The moms reclaiming a body that sheltered
The now-strollered baby
The geriatrics, shoes well-used
Nimble limbs, not brittle but abused
From pounding pavement years before this

This environment, atmosphere
Big race crowds or small informal
Stopwatch race; doesn’t matter
Just involved; a part of this kinship
Unspoken club affiliation; in passing
Not a wave, but nod
A head bob of appreciation
For another’s association;
Obsession with times, miles,
Post-race selfie smiles
Because I know there will come a day
That my body will betray
My runner’s soul.

But for now I stand at the start
Ready for race gun and one more mile

Moments of bliss in the pain and truth in the fables,
All I need is some honesty honestly,
“Stormy seas make the most skilled sailors..”,
or so her tattoo reads so sinful it feels Godly,

she says she only likes black men,
and they say “Once you go black you never go back.”,
but I’m white and when she came she came with me,
and since she arrived she hasn’t left,

sometimes,
truth really is stranger than fiction,
quit drugs got clean,
so now she is my only addition,

on a rooftop in a cool spot sipping champagne,
in the pool got a true shot at some real fame,
feeling like the hero and the villian,
half Joker have Bruce Wayne,

the truth is I feel like a mix of all the Bruces,
Bruce Jenner Bruce Banner Bruce Lee,
Bruce Willis all in it no limits or gimmicks,
Born in the USA raised on Backstreets of Philly,

an American Dreamer living The Dream,
Born To Run call me Bruce Springsteen,
found the Fountain of Youth this girl with this tattoo’s the proof,
so now I bath in the rainbows of this spring,

life so exciting sometimes I just want to scream,

like I do right now as we dance ecstatically,
unconditionally above the world on this rooftop under this star light,
which makes sense since she is a dancer by trade,
we dance and sweat and let out everything that’s inside,

we spread our arms we extend our tongue,
we seize the moment this moment of life,
because we know everything goes in an instant,
life passes by in the blink of an eye,

but without the bitter the sweet ain’t as sweet,
trying to wake up from this dream Vanilla Sky,
and sure these waters are rough,
but hey at least we’re enjoying the ride,

as we find moments of bliss in the pain and truth in the fables,
All I need is some honesty honestly,
“Stormy seas make the most skilled sailors..”,
or so her tattoo reads so sinful it feels Godly…

∆ LaLux ∆

Free Book: https://www.scribd.com/document/388173677/The-Holy-Trilogy-Volume-2-Mandalas

You kept me out
Of the scenery
Of living
with strangers
Since I was a stranger to myself
In the garden of bougainvilleas
And Begonias
Which shouldn't have been
Together
But, my lover
You kept them at peace
With each other
Like touching the mimosa
Never felt safer