Why is it we yearn for which we have not?
We are here now in the present and yet
cherish its innate wonder not a jot.
We pass bittersweet in a past regret
or long to reach an imagined future,
while moment present in sublime is-ness
we mark of insignificant stature
in wish to around the corner obsess.
Our life then is a wave rolling to shore,
adrift in a perpetual motion
of blindness to present that is before,
to a sandís end in eternity's ocean.
Die before I die and live in the now,
is a promise to life I do avow.