By Caleb Powell
I look death in the eyes
and sit calmly on the ground.
While I know that it is not yet my time,
I worry that I feel no need to run.
Others dig in their heels
to fight with all they have,
thrashing and kicking, they
strain with the ferocity of a wild horse.
They travel the world,
running and searching,
praying for a place to hide.
Does it make me a fool to accept
that this life is cruel, and will end
whether we are ready or not?
I sigh as the weight of burdens
sits on my shoulders.
I share a smile with the reaper before me,
as two friends sharing some
unspoken joke.
I laugh as joy fills my heart,
seeing those around me who
find their passions because they
searched themselves rather than the world.
When my time comes,
I do not doubt that regrets will abound.
However, I refuse to let my regrets
slow down my life.
I will not be slowed.
I will not be rushed.
My life is my own.
And maybe, just maybe,
that is enough.
