Round 148 Entry

Terminal doesn't have to mean forever.

Each day, a page unwritten, a canvas stark and wide,
I find myself compelled to fill it, with nothing left to hide.
To live it to its fullest - what does that truly mean?
Not a frantic rush, but deeply felt, to be seen.

Like the first sip of water on a summer-parched tongue,
The way a forgotten melody can be sung.
It's the sunrise bleeding orange, gold, across the kitchen wall,
The quiet grace of existence, answering life's vital call.

The way the steam curls from a mug, carrying stories on its breath,
Each moment, a tiny universe, defying impending death.
It's the deliberate pause before a door, the deep breath taken in,
The conscious choice to be fully present where I'm about to begin.

The scent of freshly cut grass, sharp and green against the air,
A sudden, unexpected pleasure, banishing every care.
It's not grand gestures always, but the noticing, the deep,
Unhurried savoring of secrets the quiet hours keep.

The laughter that erupts unbidden, pure, a bell-like, joyful sound,
The feeling of soft rain on skin, as the world spins round and round.
This fullness, a profound awareness, not a superficial sheen,
But a rooted, vibrant consciousness, of all that lies between

And living, simply living, is the sum of all of these.
It's the scent of rain on dry earth, carried on the breeze.
It's the taste of fresh-baked bread, warm butter melting slow,
The rhythm of your own heartbeat, a steady, constant flow.

It's the curiosity that sparks a question in the mind,
The sudden urge to explore what new wonders you might find.
It's the quiet strength discovered when faced with unexpected strain,
The resilience of the spirit, rising up through sun and Fall rain.

It's the mindful breath, the present moment, held with gentle care,
Knowing that each tick of time is precious, beyond all compare.
It's finding joy in the mundane, the pattern on a leaf,
The vibrant pulse of being, a hopeful, sweet belief.

The world keeps spinning, the sun still rises, colors still ignite,
In this dance of coming, going, there is endless, pure delight.
Death is not an end to fear, but a lens through which we see,
The urgency of beauty, the truth of simply being free.

Free to choose, free to feel, free to love with all our might,
Painting our human canvas with every shade of light.
Allowing wonder to blossom, like flowers after rain,
Embracing every moment, joy, sorrow, pleasure, and pain.

The quiet satisfaction of a task truly done well,
The comfort in familiar things, a story they can tell.
This vibrant, pulsing movement, the courage to engage,
To write your own unique inscription upon life's open page.

To live with open hands and heart, to give and to receive,
To truly, deeply, trust the path, and quietly believe.
So let the clock tick onward, let the seasons turn and change,
Let life unfurl its mysteries, within its boundless range.

For in the acceptance of our end, a deeper life begins,
A fearless, radiant journey, where the living always wins.
Not over death, but over apathy, over a life unspent,
Over moments wasted, possibilities un-sent.

The sun climbs higher now, a bold, gold statement in the sky,
And in this vibrant, fragile world, I choose to truly live, not merely die.
To gather memories like pearls, to love with open hand,
To face the unknown future, with Hope across the land.

To breathe it in, this glorious breath, each moment truly felt,
Until the final curtain falls, and all my stories have been dealt.
And then, perhaps, a gentle sigh, a knowing, quiet Peace,
That every day was treasured, a vibrant, rich Release.

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