Life is a poem

Life is a poem. If only we would pause and take the time to read it, and see that everything happens as it should. If only we would listen for its rhythm, so we can move in its time. If only we would notice how the end of every line invites rest, even just a momentary pause, before starting up again. If we would only let our eyes dart right to left, then left to right, following, with obedience, life’s trail of winding ways, looping and bending, leading us to what’s next.

Then we might, after paying all this good attention, after realising our poem makes good sense, choose to speak with confidence every syllable, stanza, and verse. We might use our voice, and not ask another’s, to recite our life’s poetry. We might then have some say in the tempo and the volume. We might, while reading aloud, slow down in the coda, hush our voice in the last sentence, and speak, delicately and with kindness, the final phrase.

I’ll keep at it, keep reading and reciting. Maybe you’ll join in too.