Pluck the Day
Carpe diem they tell us, but I’d rather pluck
each day as a single rose, a surprise
growing on my doorstep, and be amazed
at its impossible layering - soft, predictable,
mysterious. And its pain. That thorn
is always present in wierd places.
It hurts. You bleed. Did you know there is no
redemption? Suppose you can never have
what you cherish most?
If you pretend
there is no thorn and joyfully pluck each day,
what you cherish most?
If you pretend
there is no thorn and joyfully pluck each day,
you can live without ever being forgiven,
exist without being loved.
You cannot survive without beauty.
Pluck.
exist without being loved.
You cannot survive without beauty.
Pluck.
Lovely... and I couldn't agree more, "you cannot survive without beauty."
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