This is the stinging, burdensome truth:
We often love more than we’ve been loved.
And we fall victim to fear daily.
Our mind’s feet jump to the worst conclusions,
while our hearts at once pump hope
back into our flighty, fickle brains.
We’re dismissive of gifts
because treasuring them is
far too demanding of our bought time.
Yet and still,
We are miracles.
When our spirits eclipse our flesh
a million phoenix are rising.
We eat each other alive,
because we are consumed by the love
unveiled in the dark adoring pools
of our eyes.
But we pass it by,
Flick it off the surface of our skin
like little pests,
and let another day be taken and won,
by our own concrete feet.