Seldom do I feel alive.
Just with vivid-colored skies,
Evening air and the cold lake
Softly splashing my thighs.
Art that makes me feel things,
Poems that make my heart sing,
Vocalized, relatable cries
And the comfort that they bring.
Sunlight warm on my body,
Brief talks for which I’m not sorry,
Affection from a small selection
Of only those closest to me.
Not over-indulged by a fraction.
Refreshed eyes after restful nights,
And the energy to take action.
In these fleeting moments,
I make peace with existence.
Far and few as they are, I think,
Maybe holding on is worth this.