Not Yet

Today, you have life

one day you will not.

such is the nature of mortality

And so, in this light, I ask one question:

Is life a procrastination–

A prolonging of the inevitable?

One final act of defiance

before the stardust that makes us up

returns to the cosmos

to dance among those

who, too, refused assimilation?

Or is life just that?

a dance, in its purest form

between stars, fire, and light?

A few hundred million waltzes around the sun 

have given us a story to hold,

and yet the story cannot paint the picture

its pigments named in tongues

we’ve yet to discover–

peace, enlightenment, nirvana.

Some argue 

that those are colors we see, only after

we’ve returned to the Dance

As argued by the same ones 

who wake up,

and get out of bed in the morning,

The same ones that procrastinate.