To run on like a stream
Leaving everything behind
Content never to go back
Each day seek to find
Through meaningful meditation
Satisfaction and vitality anew
As grass every morning
Is freshened by the dew.
But is it not true of life?
Much passes without a trace
Idle words make endless chatter
Which fills the empty space
There's happiness without reason
Dullness from empty word-play
Busy striving to improve out lot
Life too swiftly slips away.
Somewhere between the vulgarness
Of contemplating what might've been
And what indeed has been
Our present precariously rests between
These two impossibilities - our struggle
Wrapped up in overcoming the past
Flounders when trying to tretrace
Footprints that somehow didn't last.