Alive | Spoken Word Poetry

The soft breeze that touched me
has opened the sky
and sun dappled brightness like honey,
but who has the time for the birds in the trees
and genially watching the bunnies?

The grass looks alive
from the touch of the rain
and smells like a bright summer morning,
though summer is slowly approaching its end
and colorful leaves started falling.

I… is there an I where I stand,
or only the memory humming,
of all the past mornings collected before
the sun of this day started shining?

So total the feeling it is of this now,
that wraps so much comfort around me,
it draws all my soul to the being around,
the larger still me I’m becoming.

And voices insist that I come back to Earth,
they chide me for being absentminded.

But wait for a second,
you don’t understand!
I’m paying attention to it.

Finally!