Those Days

Those days when everything around me feels pointless 
are days to consider my own pointlessness. 

Those days when roads are empty but for puddles, 
and the sky hangs so low it touches the crown of my head 
are days to consider my own emptiness 
and its weight upon my life.

Those days I start things I can’t finish in an attempt to prevent losing myself 
are days to consider who I think I am to begin with.

Those days when good people seem scarce 
are days to consider what goodness really means.

Those days that seem to end unfinished 
are days to consider that Nowhere can be an awfully bright place at which to arrive.

Those days I waste wishing for something more 
are days to consider the deprivation inside desire, 
the abundance inside silence, 
the movement inside stillness.

Those days where standing is too much to ask of my legs 
are days to consider my body’s need to drop and feel the ground beneath me more wholly.

Those days when my eyes don’t seem to belong to my face 
are days to consider the gifts inside an unfamiliar view.

Those days when the road stops short and I feel wasted 
are days to consider why my purpose needs to be bigger than the road’s end.

Those days I don’t feel like I belong anywhere 
are days to consider how well my feet stay anchored to the ground 
without me doing anything at all.

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