And neither you nor anyone shall be
As perfect as your strict demands would like.
And yet you’re here as much as any tree
Which tempests shake and bolts of lightning strike.
And, in itself, this very fact’s enough
To justify your doing what you do,
And be that living fast and off-the-cuff
Or planning every detail through and through.
And, even if you’re trapped inside a cell
In front of which depression’s standing guard,
That doesn’t mean you cannot live as well
As one who strolls along the boulevard.
For living well’s a nonexistent wall;
What matters is that you’re alive at all.
Photo by Hans on Unsplash
Being
