Day By Day

It’s hard, not knowing where to start
but that’s where life helps us out—we wake up each morning
The starting point, the diving board, the thunder crack
that sets us in motion again from sleep.
From there on out, we’re on our own
To do as we see best
But we don’t always see so well, do we?
We often lose sight of what is best,
and wander the world
with a mirror in front of us
seeing only what is
best for us
rather than what is
Best

Some days, some poems, are inspired,
drawn from an inner well of color, passion.
Some seem like drudgery,
Walked, written, from a sense of duty
Forced unhappily, unflowingly
and somehow subtly without our sincerest efforts,
although we finish them nonetheless.
Could we find inspiration in every sunrise? in every simple phrase?
Or is contrast
the very thing that defines passion?
If a hyacinth never wilted
Sustained its bloom through every paling winter
Would we notice it so much in May?
I think not…

And yet,
if that flower survived November in vibrant violet
never drooping through December and January,
never without heart, even when without sun,
Then could it not blossom more brilliantly each year?
Could it not rise higher each March and grow richer each April,
With burgeoning shoots and sprouting new buds,
Roots, tendrils expanding through the luscious soil,
and purple clusters filling ever more densely,
Growing in fragrance and beauty to become
more than a flower but a blooming shrub,
then with years more a delightful sapling,
And over the course of a lifetime, a great resplendent tree,
a supple green trunk with blossoms hanging from the branches like juicy plums!
What a sight it would be!

This because day by day,
it did not wax and wane like the moon,
come and go like the tide,
but rather, grow and sustain itself, never falling backwards but only climbing
until it reached
the ranks of greatness,
a wonder for the world to behold

day by day