..." to live."

"...and I am the least of these" she said

as she walked from the doorway

to the bottom of the stairs.

"...and I have no forethought in all of this mess

this fickle thing,"

and all was filth

what she perceived.

"...am I to think that time 

is punishments

and the waves of the sea

move time

like judgement?"

she pondered as her foot 

tapped lightly,

weakly on the

tongue-and-groove floor

fresh from last years 

tax return.

"...I had forgotten."

simply.

with a precision that cut sharper than

any knife.

"...I had forgotten."

over and over and over

the same 3 words.

but the last was more fraught

with emotion...

"to live." 

-Elena McCoy original poetry