No matter how serene things <br />may be in my life, <br />how well things are going, <br />my body and soul <br />are two cliff peaks <br />from which a dream of who I can be <br />falls, and I must learn <br />to fly again each day, <br />or die. <br /> <br />Death draws respect <br />and fear from the living. <br />Death offers <br />no false starts. It is not <br />a referee with a pop-gun <br />at the startling <br />of a hundred yard dash. <br /> <br />I do not live to retrieve <br />or multiply what my father lost <br />or gained. <br /> <br />I continually find myself in the ruins <br />of new beginnings, <br />uncoiling the rope of my life <br />to descend ever deeper into unknown abysses, <br />tying my heart into a knot <br />round a tree or boulder, <br />to insure I have something that will hold me, <br />that will not let me fall. <br /> <br />My heart has many thorn-studded slits of flame <br />springing from the red candle jars. <br />My dreams flicker and twist <br />on the altar of this earth, <br />light wrestling with darkness, <br />light radiating into darkness, <br />to widen my day blue, <br />and all that is wax melts <br />in the flame- <br /> <br />I can see treetops!<br /><br />Jimmy Santiago Baca<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-daily-joy-to-be-alive/
