Life Is

Risking love.  Hell,
it hurts to lose, but
to never have, those are
the restless, endless
nights, the storm which
seems to tear everything
away.  The puddles
in the morning aren’t
a salve, a balm, a visa
back.  The reflection
you see in them is just
a dream, a way to exist,
with adjustments, through
the weight time places
on you.  Laden and leaden,
you struggle forwards.
You dream and rearrange,
as though life is a room,
where too many items are
out of place, too many lines
running away in directions
you never anticipated.
Life is a problem, whose
resolution resides down the
road, a few minutes away
from being frozen into history.