When will it be enough?

Never.

Everyone just lives and lives,

And we do things, we go places, we become our degrees, or our parents, or our past, or ourselves, we assemble shapes from the wet clay of youth that at first lays abundant beneath our feet, plenty to go round,
and the possibilities, the forms it could take, endless,

And we dare to believe we discovered it all first- all of us do:
the medium, the desire, the thought, the action, the process,

We are born driven by the absolute, undisputed faith, that everything there is before us only exists because we see it,
And nothing has been or breathed before we’d come to be,
A first truth that experience will fight you to dispute,
And win.

But till then, you’ll hold on to it dearly,
for as long as you are able to,
A heavenly notion, after all, this is, that
If we’re new, then it all must be, too.

We stand wide-eyed and alive, brand new to all of what life is
and what we could be,
Dare to think that perhaps, we can become bigger than it, surely,
We see no harm in believing that’s how it would be,
Because there is no time to see,


Buzzing away as we cover ourselves in what we chose to be made of,
years upon years of caked mud layered from toe to head-top,
assembled at times in splotches, at times with care,
Delicately and brutally, in times of impatience, in times of strength,
And we fall and get up, we rejoice and ache and feel,
Frantically seeking to fill voids, fulfill ambitions,

And at times,
Want what we don’t have,
want what others had,
Commit ourselves to a constant search for ‘the better’, while
Navigating the waters of the worst,
And in our sails, not much else aside from
The breath of the years, blowing over the sores of experience.

We work relentlessly and always hold out for the Sun
and hope it would, one day, and forever,
help it all take shape and turn to stone,
Last.

We shape worlds out of words and thoughts we hear and read and believe and then go on to call our own,
We use it all to adorn a finite existence
of questionable symmetry,
And we carry it all forward,
we follow footsteps and well-drawn paths,
we let our childhood voices lead the way,

“You must work hard”
“You must become someone”
“I have sacrificed everything for you”

Have I asked you to?

When will we stop wanting and chasing and trying and learning
and shaping and molding and building and breaking,
And putting it all back together again?
Never.

Not even in death do we sit still.