It’s sad. I’m sad.
I can’t choose what there is
to be sad about,
but I am sad.

Sadness is
a form of this world,
one which folds itself
over you.

So, I choose
to embrace it, to be
fully sad. Birds sing
outside, sadly.

I am scratching
my parts sadly, itching
sadly, interpreting
everything sadly.

It only becomes
perfect, natural,
when I stand up
from this chair

and walk into
the kitchen from
the room where I
sit — the living room.

Close my eyes;
gonna die soon, I
just know it. I just
know it and am sad

considering it —
not mad, not even
a little. The birds
outside will still sing,

regardless of me
and my living or dying.
That’s the way of
this world, after all —

my sadness
is irrelevant to it;
it will wheel
and spin without

my happiness, my
despair, whatever I feel —
this world had millions
of years to get here,

millions more to get
somewhere else
with my sadness one
tiny piece of the

smallest piece of
time and place. Whatever
I feel today
might overwhelm me;

it doesn’t matter — doesn’t
help with the sadness
of course, not today.
But today is one day,

one instant of the whole
and none of it matters
at any rate. I might as well
put down my head,

cry for the moment,
then shake it off;
listen to the birds;
go back to being still.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~
onward,
T