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The Questions {Poem}



How should I live?

How should I spend the hours between waking and dreaming and waking again? What will all this mean in the end when I’ve given back my one last living breath?


Who should I love? Who should I trust to hold this fierce,

fragile heart of mine? Who do I invite into my bed, to lie next to me,

to gather dreams under moonlight?


Who is willing to see my scars, to show me theirs,

and to heal,

one kiss,

one kind act

at a time?


What do I believe? What God

do I address my prayers to? What path do I walk,

step by step through the dark, until it leads me at long last into the light?


I know you’ve asked these questions too. I

know you’ve held them in your hands and set them free into the wind, hoping they’d come

back to you someday.


When the wind returned my questions to me, the instructions were clear:


To wait,

silent and open, for those mysterious

depths within me to speak.


To listen,

as if all

existence

depended on my listening.


All you must know in this world is how to feel

what you feel in the quiet

certainty

of your bones

and to never

ever lie

when your soul

has told you true.

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