Poem: In the Fleeting Moments

In the Fleeting Moments


I seek out the unsure thing,

the uncertain, the fleeting moment,

for it is in those moments that I stare

into the mirror of myself.


I see myself reflect a thousand faces,

reject a thousand possible identities, and

slide into the skin of my own imagination.


In here, inside my skin, the one

I choose, no one can strip from me

the vanities  I build around myself,

though they, too, are fleeting moments.


But it is in these fleeting moments

of what ifs and if onlys that I discover

the path that I alone must walk,

for all of life, despite the throng that

surrounds me, must be lived alone.


It is into the uncertainties of others

That I fling myself, embrace the

strangeness of the skin of another,

and find myself within.


In embracing change and rejecting

the fear of that which is different,

the prejudice that is the nemesis of

our race and yet the sustainer of it,

I find myself perched on a tightrope

of who I might become.


Sometimes, I wish that I could fall into

the mold built for me and follow the

throng with blind will-fullness – resisting

the temptation to be the same as those

around me requires a strength of will

that holds resolve in reserve.


I hate what society represents,

watching as the blind lead the blind

into further desolation, even as I try

desperately to lead them both back to land.


But my lack of sameness, my sight,

leaves them with an uncertainty they

cannot abide, and my desire to help them

wanes, slowly, replaced by a mounting

frustration at my own inability to knock

the blinders away and simply make them see.


I wish they could see the way they hurt

themselves, diminish their own potential by

refusing to acknowledge their own worth

because the idea of being different is so alien

that the uncertainty they cannot face lies in

the acknowledgment of their own self-identity.


I keep waiting, in desperate hope, for the world to

wake up and see the devastation that surrounds

them, and my soul cries every time I watch yet another

person ignore a homeless man on the corner of the

street, and I wish I had the means to help them,

even though I barely have the means to help myself.


I grow tired of the defensive edge in

the voices of others when the excuses

they give for failing to help heal the wounds

that run like rifts through humanity

fall flat to their own ears, but they don’t

recognize the flat tones, or dismiss the

flimsiness of their excuses without any

real thought to the harm they cause.


I hurt for people who have long since

failed to hurt for themselves, and I avoid

getting close to many people because I’m

afraid that I won’t be able to help them heal,

even though it’s “not my place” to heal their pain.


I see the truth of things that others miss or

fail to appreciate, the subtle shift that determines

whether a person can survive the insane place

this world truly is, and I have come to appreciate

the necessity of adapting to the uncertainties in life.


I have learned to live in the flow of the moment

instead of waiting for the perfect opportunities

to come to me. Instead, I chase the uncertainties,

the unsure things, the fleeting moments.


For it is in the experience of them

that I am able to find  what it means

to be human – more than that,

I learn what it means to live.


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