This piece of life

Who am I, this piece of life?

This scrap of broken dreams and joy.

This struggling, juggling, swearing, bewaring;

Having-loved-so-hard-it-now-scares-me-to-try.

Who am I, this piece of life?

This shard of a glimmering shattered crown,

This fighting, delighting, tussling, muscling,

Not-giving-in-till-I-get-put-in-the-ground.

Who am I, this piece of life?

This cloud of ephemeral, swirling mist,

This shouting and doubting, moping and hoping,

Wait-what-did-you-say-that-I-almost-missed?

These questions and answers I throw all around,

Are meaningless noises made of nothing but sound.

In moments like these, they are all that I hear,

But then I remember, your calm voice so clear:

“Who you are, you piece of life,

You beautiful bundle of fears, care and doubt

You crazing, amazing, living and giving,

Big-hearted-guy-that-we-all-care-about”