Vivere

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
A rather long (well, for me) poem on life, impossibilities, and broken wings.

Submitted: May 12, 2017

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Submitted: May 12, 2017

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These days, I look around

and think that courage is dead.

We sit down

we stare blankly at our screens

and we don’t do anything worth doing.

 

Once in a while

I have a certain thought

which I try to avoid

whenever possible.

 

People are like origami.
They’re intricate

folded

delicate

and they rip

tear

break

unfold

too easily.

 

Life is frail.

Get over it.

Live with it

since that’s all you can do.

Sit down.

You’re a house of cards.

 

I think sometimes

that out there

in the unending stretches of eternity

there are angels.

 

Sometimes I feel like an idiot.

Why believe?
Life is pointless.

We live

we die

we stand

we fall

 

Somedays, the stars

in the endless

expanse of the heavens

are just a little too far away.

Unreachable.

Dying.

Worthless.

Sometimes, I think

why?

 

Angels can’t fly with broken wings,

so they say.

So we deny

and we say

It’s impossible.

Angels are gone.

Stop reaching for the stars,

they’re just burning balls of gas

far

far

away.

 

Mountains are treacherous

the higher you climb

the farther you fall.

And you’ll fall.

We all fall.

 

I once heard that angels are

there to catch you.

All of my life says

that there is no one there.

But the heavens say different.

I say different.

If this is a lie

then it’s one I want to believe.

 

They say that to reach the farthest star is impossible.

Yeah,

it is.

So?

I’d rather die falling than die never having moved.

 

If believing is a lie

than that lie is one I’ll believe

because without belief

there’s no point.

This is the way

I want to live my life.

If this is wrong…

then there’s nothing

I would rather have done.

 

Sometimes, I wonder

if it’s better to have

failed at more things

then most people have ever tried.

To have suffered more

then most people have ever enjoyed

but to know

that this was the right thing

and to have loved and lived and laughed

more than any have suffered.

 

I think the meaning of an angel might be

to fly with broken wings.

 

I wonder

is it better to take the fall

die in the dark silent and cold

for someone who will never know

or do nothing

live on

and live the rest of your life

dead

because whatever

it is that life is for

I don’t think it’s pleasure.

 

When I die, I want

to go down knowing

there was nothing more

I could have done.

Because I touched the stars.

Because I found my angel.

Because I took the fall.

Because I lived.
Because I was brave


© Copyright 2017 Teresa Morgan. All rights reserved.

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