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Being Here
I count my blessings.
The spice of life in the dice
Snake’s eyes or pairs of sixes
Who knows when we throw
Which one hits or misses.
The answers could be hallowed
Sacred or sanctified
To fortune found on the ground
Ordained and beatified.
Blessings call in the thrall
And falls like morning dew
Then slips in drips of silver
And floats down from the blue.
The sun pierces the globules
Then explodes in green and gold
Reflecting a garden of diamonds
New life from stories told.
The ocean lisps and whispers
Tales told down in the deep
Hidden from understanding
I taste when I’m asleep.
Trees and winds, swing on the wing
To the movement of the breeze
Then joins with the synchronicity
Of the birds and bees.
When I wake each morning
And watch the day evolve
Being here, I count my blessings
An enigma I find hard to solve.
The fragrance of a flower
Some petals painted pink
By the glow, and what I know
Keeps my world in sync.
©
David Rudder
2025
Thank you for reading this piece and my poetry.
