I Am Alive

I write until the callus on my finger blisters.

I type until my bones ache;

It may be carpel tunnel visiting often.

The joints of my hands become sore and

My wrists need rest.

My strained eyes don't care

When windowed daylight fades

But then I may forget to turn the lamp on.

I walk until my heels burn

But I'm not afraid to hike twelve miles.

The sky tells me that journeys are infinite

And what I accomplish in a day is quite small

But I'd do it all over again.

I would gladly create, be it a collage of words

Or sun-filled memories, even if it pains me

Because it means I am alive.