Abundance in Becoming

Each Moment Changes Our Being

This poem explores inner transformation through time, memory, and desire, tracing how we move beyond the ache and learn to live fully within the stories we are becoming. It is a quiet reflection on acceptance and transformation.

Life,

A day we're born,
or the day we touched the horn,
a day we felt the flame,
a day we're lost in storm.

A day the soul's delight,
a day we finally won the fight.

To be living
is to be reborn

For life is not to preach
of winning,
life is lived to seek its meaning.

On a long road, leaves beneath our feet,
guiding paths as choices meet,
For the choices and truths we follow,
so our lives do not ring hollow.

Time is the teacher we feared,
yet the only one we cared.

For some, time can move slow,
especially through moments felt so low,
in hospital sounds that never leave;
time pauses, and pain relives.

Some moments are drowned in grief;
time may move, but moments recede.

Trapped inside a time paradox,
like a tiger somehow beaten by the fox,
there is no price to buy the moments lost.
It's fighting with the mind's own ghost,
a cost we bear the most.

Every second we experience life, it's magic,
yet we sing it like a broken song, so tragic.

To bring change,
we must change now,
as the future reflects
what the past accepts.

Our beliefs are shaped by assumption,
like the rise and set we trust each day,
our lives lean toward acceptance
as weather shifts beyond our say.

And the path, lit only by attention,
is carved like a trail through the hill,
each step whispering of change ,
life's own pill

Our desires grow from what our souls crave;
to work on them deeply, we must be brave.
As life is watched like a long-told story,
not living it fully is our deepest worry.

A dream is felt in sleep or wake;
to work on it, we put time at stake.

A dream to return back in time
may feel sweet, until it costs what's mine.
For meaning lives in moments past,
yet pain and journeys aren't meant to last.
But gains are hard to carry back,
alongside what we loose upon that track.
For even if we traveled through time,
we'd lose the future we shaped so fine.

As life is a passing ocean,
restless always in its motion,
moving only with the current,
the current holding every moment
carrying stories as it flows,
this is life's quiet prose.

As oceans move, our stories change,
life's beauty: nothing stays the same.
Even wishes,
even desire
life gains meaning through what we aspire.
And the journey is deeply felt and known
when belief within ourselves has grown.

All comes to give our lives their shape,
whether love, or loss, or those we ache.
For we must feel it fully to find meaning,
the meaning our soul is softly bearing.

A voice of the soul, holding emotion as story,
sometimes in undertone, gentle and low,
where words search for meaning long lost,
trapped far below, so hard to let go.
For life must pass what's left unspoken,
and not to feel it all is unhealed emotion.

We know ourselves by the memories we play,
a museum of stories we carry each day,
where we heal our worry, our sorrow, our fear.
Yet still we move forward through time,
for making new memories, our stories align.

Nothing is ever fully taken away;
until we live by breath each day.
Those random beats recall the flame we've known,
when life defeats us, the heart beats on.

And the soul's light grows bright,
as the flame reflects what the soul accepts.
A wound heals long before it feels right.
The soul finds its way when it accepts the fight.

Transformation is the truest form we wear,
whether we born, die, or rise from despair.

So the light remains,
and our stories sustain,
glowing on through eternity,
revealing our true identity.
For moments may pass in vain,
but our soul remembers
what the heart cannot explain.