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Undefinable living
Our lives
can somehow
be contained
in a single word.
Life.
The basis of existence
resides in one syllable.
Yet the perplexity
of this noun
and adjective,
has resulted
in an entire paragraph
of contradictions.
Why do we use
singularity
to sum up
the thing we all
breathe,
blink,
and cry for?
So many of us
find simplicity
to be the easiest route.
Yet my words
fall like tears
on cotton pillows.
Without force,
or exertion.
I do not wish
for my living
to be defined
in a word.
I want more.
Life.
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I asked my best friend one late night, to give me a topic to write on. When he responded with simply life, I wanted to ask for more specifics. But that's what we're all tempted to do. We want to dwell on details instead of the overall power of our being here. There began the poem he described as the only real poetry that's every moved him. I'm not looking for fame of this work, but instead of an extended thought past out usual thought process.