Know What I Mean

Our mortality pushes

us to find meaning.

We want meaning

in the time we have.

A search for meaning in

a vacuum is a fruitless

endeavor. We suffocate

in the absence of substance.

Gold has no value other than

the meaning we attribute to

its glitter yet we know its shimmer

is fleeting.

I seek assurances that having a

meaning is important to my time here,

and my time here gives meaning to

others.

I crave meaning. Yet, I know

a single leaf falling from a tree has no great,

magical implication. Its purpose has

ended and sloughed off.

And yet we cannot equate our

mortality to that of a tree.

Since that fallen leaf might have been

one of millions over the tree’s lifetime.

It’s only one leaf for me, so should that

falling leaf, swirling on the breeze, hold

some special import? Should it have meaning?

While meaning nothing to the tree?

Meaning is measured by our existence,

our short, brief and hilariously tiny lifespans,

of which we have so little control. And so

much happens to us in that speck of time.

A kiss on the lips from a lover today means nothing

in the ten thousand years of a mountains life,

but it means everything.

Everything.   

It means everything

in our search

for

meaning.