My Most Beautiful Day
I've yet to see the top of the world,
and came close to the bottom.
(Save a few guns because I'm white,
or perhaps I was the wrong religion).
I've seen the clouds drift over carelessly
as the sun shone through with ferocity
and the water far below me glisten
from the kiss of the sun.
I've seen life anew, in a bloody mass,
unable to cry, unable to comprehend
and watched it slip away in my hands
as a colorless water bag, DOA.
I've watched pets die
out of love for their men,
and men die
out of pure hate from other men.
Thousands of the best days,
and thousands of the worst,
culminate in a simple life.
But still I know that one thing remains.
That single reason I sleep each night.
I have yet to see tomorrow.
[Seen from form and function, this is not a poem. Please don't think I would write so badly. However, as a statement of manifest, as a statement of realization and self-evaluation, it's just words. This leaves us with little more than a short lived reality. Ironically, I should have a long time left to revise such a statement. I just wanted to comment on how many of 'the most beautiful days' I've really seen in life.]