are ten days worth more than one?

i see scrambling, wanting more and more,
hiding agendas and insecurities,
personal failings and crumbling dreams.
the desperation seeps in like moisture,
misting up our eyes.

brush the drops from your eyes. and then
let us try to breathe and know the meaning
of a chest expanding and receding in proportionate
rhythm. (it can be more beautiful than the extreme
which drives blood to kill.)

are you counting? my ocd makes me mutter to myself
and when i hear, i wonder why i fill the seconds
with my own talk. control is the thing that keeps
our boundaries intact and normal. what would happen
if i simply let go
and lived a day, a whole day without thinking of any more?
i want to believe i can be enough for myself in this small space.

there is that desperation, again. no added measures of love
and reinforcement ... no. just another illusion and disillusion

are ten days worth more than one?

i turn to the child who has an hour to live and
watch life blowing in his eyes ...
even through the tears i know i have it wrong
and a minute is all it can take to finally
live as we are meant to.