Life is a bumpy road,
And sometimes the shocks fail.
You get a puncture,
In the heart of the wilderness,
With no spare tyre
Or sign of life in the horizon.
Left with only your soul for company,
You discover the depth of the inner hollow.
What defines us, is not what we own or do,
Neither who we know or are known to.
For events can turn in a blink
To sieve the friendly foes
From those ideally true.
When we are broken down to a pulp,
And we can still smile at the beauty of the sunrise,
Or dance to the rhythm of the wind,
We have found true peace.
Inner contentment that eludes many a soul.
For the essence of happiness is not
In the abundance of your bounty,
It is the steady step wrought of vision.
The deep soothing sleep availed by right dealings.
The loving embrace from those we take the time to treasure.
The very pain that breaks us is the very thing that makes us.
It reminds our being that when all is said and done,
The most important things are those that are not felt
Not those that are held.
The important things are not those that overflow in the store house
No. They are those that overwhelm the heart with warmth