Unseizing the Day

Someday you will die.  But not today.

Today you will live, and worry over trifles,

And aggravate the people you love most,

And stoke your vanity, and nurse a grudge,

And waste an hour staring at a screen.

This is what it means to be alive –

To always be failing to cherish what you have.

To always be distracted, busy, blind,

And always fumbling in pursuit of dust,

While treasure gleams behind you, patiently,

Praying you’ll madly dare to turn around.

It’s too much pressure to imagine death.

It’s too much to live up to.  Let it go.

Assume instead that you will never die,

And never read a poem that begins

By bluntly telling you your death will come,

Because, however much the poet means

To celebrate the inconsequence of life,

He’ll only do the opposite.  He’ll seem

To say that you should seize the day,

When all he really meant to say was that

The day can seize itself, if necessary,

And you can dream away your short long life,

Because you’re human, and that’s what we do.