Carpe Diem, An Old Man Speaks
I have counted mornings
not by calendars
but by the stiffness in my hands
and the patience of the kettle.
Once, I believed
life was a ledger of later—
save the laughter,
postpone the journeys,
wait for a day
that wore perfection like a crown.
But time, that quiet thief,
taught me arithmetic of another kind:
subtract hesitation,
divide sorrow by kindness,
multiply wonder wherever it hides.
Now I rise
not to chase youth
but to greet the fragile, golden present—
this breath,
this light leaning through the curtain,
this sparrow rehearsing joy on the sill.
Seize the day, you say?
Ah, do more than seize—
taste it.
Let it stain your fingers with meaning.
Call the friend,
Forgive the wound,
Walk where the sky is wider than your worry.
Love without the timid grammar of “someday.”
For I have learned,
as twilight gathers softly at my door,
that a well-lived moment
outshines a thousand careful plans.
And if tomorrow comes,
welcome it.
But today—
today is the miracle.
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